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MACLEOD    OF    DAKE. 


MACLEOD  OP    DARE 


^  Nouel 

By  WILLIAM  BLACK 

acrnor  of  "a  princess  of  thule  "  "the  strange  adventcrk3  of  a  phaeton  ' 
"a  daughter  of  hkth"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED 

Ct  J.  PETTIE,  R.A.,  T.  GRAHAM,  G.  H.  BOUGHTON,  W.  Q.  ORCIJARDSON,  ft. A., 

COLIN  HUNTER,  J.  MACWHIRTER,  C.  E.  JOHNSON,  J.  A.  AITKEN, 

T.  FAED,  R.A.,  J.  E.  MILLAIS,  R.A.,  F.  POWELL, 

AND  P.  GRAHAM,  A.R.A. 


NEW  YORK 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN     SQUAUK 


WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOVELS. 


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MACLEOD  OF  DARE,    Illustrated.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
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PcBLisHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

JO"  Any  of  the  aiove  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
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PR 

M  \Z 


To  my  good  friends  J.  Pettie,  li.A.,  T.  Graham,  G.  H. 
Boughton,  W.  Q.  Orchardson,  R.A.,  Colin  Hunter,  J.  Mac- 
Whirter,  G.  E.  Johnson,  J.  A.  Aitken,  T.  Faed,  R.A.,  J.  E. 
Millais,  R.A.,  F.  Powell,  and  P.  Graham,  A.R.A.,  I  have  much 
pleasure  in  dedicating  this  story ;  and  that  not  so  much  in  the 
way  of  any  compliment  to  them  as  to  record  my  deep  sense  of 
gratitude  to  them  for  having  turned  aside  from  more  important 
labors  to  give  me  each  a  drawing  in  illustration  of  the  tale.  If 
the  book  were  better  worthy  of  suck  distinguished  collaboration, 
I  should  have  less  scruple — but  equal  pride  —  in  placing  their 
names  on  this  page. 

LoNDOJi,  November,  1878, 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE   SIX  BOYS  OF  DARE  5 

II.  MENTOR 15 

III.  FIOXAGIIAL 22 

IV.  WONDER-LAXD 35 

V.  IN  PARK  LANE 42 

VI.   A   SUMMER  DAY  ON  THE   THAMES CO 

VII.   THE  DUCHESS  OF  DEVONSHIRE 60 

VIII.  LAUREL   COTTAGE 69 

IX.  THE  PRINCESS  RIGIIINN  77 

X.  LAST  NIGHTS 86 

XI.  A  FLOWER 93 

XU.  WHITE  HEATHER 101 

XIII.  AT  HOME 110 

XIV.  A  FRIEND 116 

XV.  A  CONFESSION 125 

XVI.  REBELLION 131 

XVII.  "fhir  a  bhata!" 139 

XVIII.   CONFIDENCES 146 

XIX.  A  RESOLVE 153 

XX.  OTTER- SKINS 162 

XXL  IN  LONDON  AGAIN 171 

XXIL  DECLARATION 179 

XXIIL   A  RED  ROSE 187 

XXIV.   ENTHUSIASMS 195 

XXV.   IN  SUSSEX 204 

XXVI.   AN   INTERVIEW 214 

XXVTL   AT  A  RAILWAY   STATION 223 

XXVIII.   A  DISCLOSURE 231 

XXIX.  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS 239 

XXX.   A   GRAVE 247 

1 


2  CONTENTS. 

OIIAP.  PAGE 

XXXI.   OVER  THE  SEAS 256 

XXXII.  iiAMisii 266 

XXXIII.  THE   GRAVE   OF   MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD 274 

XXXIV.  THE   UMPIRE 285 

XXXV.  A  CAVE  IN  MULL 29.3 

XXXVI.   THE  NEW  TRAGEDY 303 

XXXVU.  AN  UNDERSTANDING 311 

XXXVIU.  AFRAID 320 

XXXIX.  A  CLIMAX 328 

XL.   DREAJIS 33G 

XLI.  A  LAST  HOPE 344 

XLII.  THE  WHITE-WINGED  DOVE 353 

XLIII.  DOVE,  OR  SEA-EAGLEf 363 

XLIV.   THE    PRISONER 373 

XLV.  THE   VOYAGE   OVER 383 

XLVI.  THE   END 396 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Macleod  of  D.VRE ./.  Pettie,  H.A Frontispiece. 

The  River  Thames T.  Graham .facespage  49 

Laurel  Cottage O.H.  Boughton 

Meeting  the  Steamer Colin  Hunter 

MacLeod's  Return W.Q.  Orchardson,  R.A 

Castle  Dare J.  Mac  Whirter 

Twilight  in  Sussex C.  E.  Johnson 

A  Snow-Storm J.  A.  Aitken 

A  Dark  Saying T.  Faed,  R.A 

An  Evening  Walk J.  E.  llillais,  R.A 

The  "  Umpire  "  Sailing  South.  .  F.  Powell. 

Nearing  the  End P.  Graham,  A.R.A 


"  69 

"  104 

"  109 

"  148 

"  210 

"  254 

"  274 

"  309 

"  362 

"  403 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


CHAPTER  T. 

THE    SIX    BOYS    OF    DAUE. 


The  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  lonely  western  seas;  Ulva,  and 
Lunga,  and  the  Dutchman's  Cap  had  grown  dark  on  the  darken- 
ing waters ;  and  the  smooth  Atlantic  swell  was  boomino-  alonir 
the  sombre  caves;  but  up  here  in  Castle  Dare,  on  the  high  and 
rocky  coast  of  Mull,  the  great  hall  Avas  lit  with  such  a  blaze  of 
candles  as  Castle  Dare  had  but  rarely  seen.  And  yet  there  did 
not  seem  to  be  any  grand  festivities  going  forward;  for  there 
were  only  three  people  seated  at  one  end  of  the  long  and  narrow 
table ;  and  the  banquet  that  the  faithful  Ilamish  had  provided 
for  them  Avas  of  the  most  frugal  kind.  At  the  head  of  the  table 
sat  an  old  lady  with  silvery-white  hair  and  proud  and  fine  feat- 
ures. It  would  have  been  a  keen  and  haughty  face  but  for  the 
unutterable  sadness  of  the  eyes — blue-gray  eyes  under  black  eye- 
lashes that  must  have  been  beautiful  enough  in  her  youth,  but 
were  now  dimmed  and  worn,  as  if  the  weight  of  the  world's  sor- 
row had  been  too  much  for  the  proud,  high  spirit.  On  the  right 
of  Lady  Macleod  sat  the  last  of  her  six  sons,  Keith  by  name,  a 
tall,  sparely  built,  sinewy  young  fellow,  with  a  sun-tanned  check 
and  crisp  and  curling  hair,  and  with  a  happy  and  careless  look  in 
his  clear  eyes  and  about  his  mouth  that  rather  blinded  one  to  the 
linn  lines  of  his  face.  Glad  youth  shone  there,  and  the  health 
begotten  of  hard  exposure  to  wind  and  weather.  What  Avas  life 
to  him  but  a  laugh :  so  long  as  there  was  a  prow  to  cleave  the 
plunging  seas,  and  a  glass  to  pick  out  the  branching  antlers  far 
away  amidst  the  mists  of  the  corric  ?     To  please  his  mother,  on 


6  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

this  the  last  niglit  of  Lis  being  at  home,  he  wore  the  kilts;  and 
he  had  hung  his  broad  bhie  bonnet,  with  its  sprig  of  juniper — 
the  badge  of  the  clan — on  the  top  of  one  of  the  niany  pikes  and 
halberds  that  stood  by  the  great  fireplace.  Opposite  hira,  on  the 
old  lady's  left  hand,  sat  his  cousin,  or  rather  half-cousin,  the  plain- 
featured  but  large-hearted  Janet,  whom  the  poor  people  about 
that  neio-hborhood  regarded  as  being  something  more  than  any 
mere  mortal  woman.  If  there  had  been  any  young  artist  among 
that  Celtic  peasantry  fired  by  religious  enthusiasm  to  paint  the 
face  of  a  Madonna,  it  would  have  been  the  plain  features  of  Ja- 
net Macleod  he  would  have  dreamed  about  and  striven  to  trans- 
fer to  his  canvas.  .Her  eyes  were  fine,  it  is  true:  they  were  hon- 
est and  tender;  they  were  not  unlike  the  eyes  of  the  grand  old 
lady  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table ;  but,  unlike  hers,  they  were 
not  Aveighted  with  the  sorrow  of  years. 

"  It  is  a  dark  hour  you  have  chosen  to  go  away  from  your 
home,"  said  the  mother ;  and  the  lean  hand,  resting  on  the  table 
before  her,  trembled  somewhat. 

"  Why,  mother,"  the  young  man  said,  lightly,  "  you  know  I  am 

to  have  Captain 's  cabin  as  far  as  Greenock ;  and  there  will 

be  plenty  of  time  for  me  to  put  the  kilts  away  before  I  am  seen 
by  the  people." 

"  Oh,  Keith,"  his  cousin  cried — for  she  was  trying  to  be  very 
cheerful,  too — "  do  you  say  that  you  are  ashamed  of  the  tartan  ?" 

"  Ashamed  of  the  tartan  I"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  Is  there 
any  one  who  has  been  brought  up  at  Dare  who  is  likely  to  be 
ashamed  of  the  tartan  ?  AYhen  I  am  ashamed  of  the  tartan  I 
will  put  a  pigeon's  feather  in  my  cap,  as  the  new  suaicheantas  of 
this  branch  of  Clann  Leoid.  But  then,  my  good  Janet,  I  would 
as  soon  think  of  taking  my  rifle  and  the  dogs  through  the  streets 
of  London  as  of  wearing  the  kilts  in  the  south." 

The  old  lady  paid  no  heed.  Her  hands  were  now  clasped  be- 
fore her.     There  was  sad  thinking  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  the  last  of  my  six  boys,"  said  she,  "  and  you  are 
going  away  from  me  too." 

"  Xow,  now,  mother,"  said  he,  "  you  must  not  make  so  much 
of  a  holiday.  You  would  not  have  me  always  at  Dare  ?  You 
know  that  no  good  comes  of  a  stay-at-home.'*- 

She  knew  the  proverb.  Her  other  sons  had  not  been  stay-at 
homes.     What  had  come  to  them  ? 


THE    SIX    BOYS    OF    DARE.  7 

Of  Sholto,  the  eldest,  the  traveller,  the  dare-devil,  the  grave  is 
unknown  ;  but  the  story  of  how  he  met  his  death,  in  far  Arizona, 
came  years  after  to  England  and  to  Castle  Dare.  He  sold  his 
life  dearly,  as  became  one  of  his  race  and  name.  When  his  cow- 
ardly attendants  found  a  band  of  twenty  Apaches  riding  down 
on  them,  they  unhitched  the  mules  and  galloped  off,  leaving  him 
to  confront  the  savages  by  himself.  One  of  these,  more  coura- 
geous than  his  fellows,  advanced  and  drew  his  arrow  to  the  barb ; 
the  next  second  he  uttered  a  yell,  and  rolled  from  his  saddle  to 
the  ground,  shot  through  the  heart.  Macleod  seized  this  instant, 
when  the  savages  were  terror-stricken  by  the  precision  of  the 
white  man's  weapons,  to  retreat  a  few  yards  and  get  behind  a 
mesquit-tree.  Ilerc  he  was  pretty  well  sheltered  from  the  arrows 
that  they  sent  in  clouds  about  him,  while  he  succeeded  in  killing 
other  two  of  his  enemies  who  had  ventured  to  approach.  At  last 
they  rode  off;  and  it  seemed  as  though  he  would  be  permitted 
to  rejoin  his  dastardly  comrades.  But  the  Indians  had  only  gone 
to  windward  to  set  the  tall  grass  on  fire ;  and  presently  he  had  to 
scramble,  burned  and  blinded,  up  the  tree,  where  he  was  an  easy 
mark  for  their  arrows.  Fortunately,  when  he  fell  he  was  dead. 
This  was  the  story  told  by  some  friendly  Indians  to  a  party  of 
white  men,  and  subsequently  brought  home  to  Castle  Dare. 

The  next  four  of  the  sons  of  Dare  were  soldiers,  as  most  of  the 
Macleods  of  that  family  had  been.  And  if  you  ask  about  the 
graves  of  Roderick  and  Ronald,  what  is  one  to  say  ?  They  are 
known,  and  yet  unknown.  The  two  lads  were  in  one  of  the  Bigh- 
land  regiments  that  served  in  the  Crimea.  They  both  lie  buried 
on  the  bleak  plains  outside  Sevastopol.  And  if  the  memorial 
stones  put  up  to  them  and  their  brother  officers  are  falling  into 
ruin  and  decay — if  the  very  graves  have  been  rifled — how  is  Eng- 
land to  help  that  ?  England  is  the  poorest  country  in  the  world. 
There  was  a  talk  some  two  or  three  years  ago  of  putting  uj)  a 
monument  on  Cathcart  Hill  to  the  Englishmen  who  died  in  -the 
Crimea;  and  that  at  least  would  have  been  some  token  of  re- 
membrance, even  if  we  could  not  collect  the  scattered  remains 
of  our  slain  sons,  as  the  French  have  done.  But  then  that  mon- 
ument would  have  cost  £5000.  How  could  England  afford 
£5000  ?  When  a  big  American  city  takes  fire,  or  when  a  dis- 
trict in  France  is  inundated,  she  can  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket 
deeply  enough ;  but  how  can  we  expect  so  proud  a  mother  to 


S  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

thiuk  twice  about  Lcr  children  -svlio  perislied  in  fighting  fur  her  ? 
llappily  the  dead  are  independent  of  forgetfulness. 

Duncan  the  Fair -haired — Donacha  Ban,  they  called  him,  far 
and  wide  among  the  hills — lies  buried  in  a  jungle  on  the  African 
coast.  He  was  only  twenty -three  when  he  was  killed:  but  he 
knew  he  had  got  the  Victoria  Cross.  As  he  lay  dying,  he  asked 
whether  the  people  in  England  would  send  it  to  his  mother,  show- 
inof  that  his  last  fancies  were  still  about  Castle  Dare. 

And  Hector?  As  you  cross  the  river  at  Sadowa,  and  pass 
through  a  bit  of  forest,  some  cornfields  begin  to  appear,  and 
these  stretch  away  up  to  the  heights  of  Chlum.  Along  the  ridge 
there,  by  the  side  of  the  wood,  are  many  mounds  of  earth.  Over 
the  grave  of  Hector  Macleod  is  no  proud  and  pathetic  inscrip- 
tion such  as  marks  the  last  resting-place  of  a  young  lieutenant 
who  perished  at  Gravelotte — Er  ruht  sanft  in  wiedererkdmpfter 
deutschei'  Erde — but  the  young  Highland  officer  was  well  beloved 
by  his  comrades,  and  when  the  dead  were  being  pitched  into  the 
great  holes  dug  for  them,  and  when  rude  hands  were  preparing 
the  simple  record,  painted  on  a  wooden  cross — '^''Hier  lier/en — • 
tap/ere  Krier/er''^ — a  separate  memento  was  placed  over  the  grave 

of  Under-lieutenant  Hector  Macleod  of  the th  Imperial  and 

Royal  Cavalry  Regiment.  He  was  one  of  the  two  sons  who  had 
not  inherited  the  title.  Was  it*ot  a  proud  boast  for  this  white- 
liaired  lady  in  Mull  that  she  had  been  the  mother  of  four  baron- 
ets? AYhat  other  mother  in  all  the  land  could  say  as  much? 
And  yet  it  was  that  that  had  dimmed  and  saddened  the  beau- 
tiful eyes. 

And  nov/  her  youngest — her  Benjamin,  her  best-beloved — he 
was  going  away  from  her  too.  It  was  not  enough  that  the  big- 
deer  forest,  the  last  of  the  possessions  of  the  Macleods  of  Dare, 
liad  been  kept  intact  for  him,  when  the  letting  of  it  to  a  rich 
Englishman  would  greatly  have  helped  the  failing  fortunes  of  the 
family;  it  was  not  enough  that  the  poor  people  about,  knowing 
Lady  Macleod's  wishes,  had  no  thought  of  keeping  a  salmon  spear 
hidden  in  the  thatch  of  their  cottages.  Salmon  and  stag  could 
no  longer  bind  him  to  the  place.  The  young  blood  stirred.  And 
when  he  asked  her  what  good  thing  came  of  being  a  stay-at-home, 
what  could  she  say  ? 

Suddenly  old  Hamish  threw  wide  the  oaken  doors  at  the  end 
of  the  hall,  and  there  was  a  low  roar  like  the  roaring  of  lions. 


THE    SIX    BOYS    OF    DARE.  9 

And  then  a  young  lad,  witli  the  pipes  proudly  perched  on  his 
shoulder,  marched  in  with  a  stately  step,  and  joyous  and  shrill 
arose  the  Salute.  Three  times  lie  marched  round  the  long  and 
narrow  hall,  finishing  behind  Keith  Maclcod's  chair.  The  young 
man  turned  to  him. 

"  It  was  well  played,  Donald,"  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic ;  "  and  I 
will  tell  you  that  the  Skye  College  in  the  old  times  never  turued 
out  a  better  pupil.  And  will  you  take  a  glass  of  whiskey  now, 
or  a  glass  of  claret?  And  it  is  a  great  pity  your  hair  is  red,  or 
they  would  call  you  DonuU  Dubh,  and  people  would  say  you 
were  the  boi'u  successor  of  the  last  of  the  MacCruimins." 

At  this  praise — imagine  telling  a  piper  lad  that  he  was  a  fit 
successor  of  the  MacCruimins,  the  hereditary  pipers  of  the  Mac- 
Icods — the  young  stripling  blushed  hot ;  but  he  did  not  forget 
his  professional  dignity  for  all  that.  And  he  was  so  proud  of  his 
good  English  that  he  replied  in  that  tongue. 

"I  Avill  take  a  glass  of  the  claret  wine.  Sir  Keith,"  said  he. 

Young  Macleod  took  up  a  horn  tumbler,  rimmed  with  silver, 
and  having  the  triple-towered  castle  of  the  Macleods  engraved  on 
it,  and  filled  it  with  wine.     lie  handed  it  to  the  lad. 

"  I  drink  your  health.  Lady  Macleod,"  said  he,  when  he  had  re- 
moved his  cap ;  "  and  I  drink  your  health,  Miss  Macleod ;  and  I 
drink  your  health.  Sir  Keith ;  ^d  I  would  have  a  lighter  heart 
this  night  if  I  was  going  with  you  away  to  England." 

It  was  a  bold  demand. 

"  I  cannot  take  you  with  me,  Donald ;  the  Macleods  have  got 
out  of  the.  way  of  taking  their  piper  with  them  now.  You  must 
stay  and  look  after  the  dogs." 

"  But  you  are  taking  Oscar  with  you.  Sir  Keith." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I  must  make  sure  of  having  one  friend  with  me 
in  the  south." 

"And  I  think  I  would  be  better  than  a  collie,"  muttered  the 
lad  to  himself,  as  he  moved  oS  in  a  proud  and  hurt  way  toward 
the  door,  his  cap  still  in  his  hand. 

And  now  a  great  silence  fell  over  these  three ;  and  Janet  Mac- 
leod looked  anxiously  toward  the  old  lady,  who  sat  unmoved  in 
tlie  face  of  the  ordeal  through  which  she  knev/  she  must  pass. 
It  was  an  old  custom  that  each  night  a  pibroch  should  be  played 
in  Castle  Dare  in  remembrance  of  her  five  slain  sons ;  and  yet  on 
this  one  night  her  niece  would  fain  have  seen  that  custom  aban- 

1* 


10  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

doned.  For  was  not  the  pibroch  the  famous  and  pathetic  "  Cum- 
hadh  na  Cloinne,"  the  Lament  for  the  Children,  that  Patrick 
Mor,  one  of  the  pipers  of  Macleod  of  Skye,  had  composed  to  the 
memory  of  his  seven  sons,  who  had  all  died  within  one  year? 
And  now  the  doors  were  opened,  and  the  piper  boy  once  more 
entered.  The  wild,  sad  wail  arose ;  and  slow  and  solemn  was  the 
step  with  whicli  he  walked  up  tlie  hall.  Lady  Macleod  sat  calm 
and  erect,  her  lips  proud  and  firm,  but  her  lean  hands  were  work- 
ing  nervously  together;  and  at  last,  when  tlie  doors  were  closed 
on  the  slow  and  stately  and  mournful  Lament  for  the  Children, 
she  bent  down  the  silvery  head  on  those  vv'rinkled  hands  and  wept 
aloud.  Patrick  Mor's  seven  brave  sons  could  have  been  no  more 
to  him  than  her  six  tall  lads  had  been  to  her;  and  now  the  last 
of  them  was  going  away  from  her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Janet,  quickly,  to  her  cousin  across  the 
table,  "  that  it  is  said  no  piper  in  the  West  Highlands  can  play 
'Lord  Lovat's  Lament'  like  our  Donald?" 

"  Oh  yes,  he  plays  it  very  well ;  and  he  has  got  a  good  step," 
Macleod  said.  "But  you  will  tell  him  to  play  no  more  Laments 
to-night.  Let  him  take  to  strathspeys  if  any  of  the  lads  como 
up  after  bringing  back  the  boat.  It  will  be  time  enough  for  him 
to  make  a  Lament  for  me  when  I  am  dead.  Come,  mother,  have 
you  no  message  for  Norman  Ogilvie  ?" 

The  old  lady  had  nerved  herself  again,  though  her  hands  were 
still  trembling. 

"I  hope  he  will  come  back  with  you,  Keith,"  she  said. 

"For  the  shooting?  No,  no,  mother.  He  was  not  fit  for  the 
shootins:  about  here :  I  have  seen  that  long  ago.  Do  you  think 
he  could  lie  for  an  hour  in  a  wet  bog  ?  It  was  up  at  Fort  AVil- 
liam  I  saw  him  last  year,  and  I  said  to  him,  'Do  you  wear  gloves 
at  Aldershot?'  His  hands  were  as  white  as  the  hands  of  a 
woman." 

"  It  is  no  woman's  hand  you  have,  Keith,"  his  cousin  said ;  "  it 
is  a  soldier's  hand." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  his  face  flushing,  "  and  if  I  had  had  Nor- 
man Ogilvie's  chance — " 

Put  lie  paused.  Could  he  reproach  this  old  dame,  on  the  very 
night  of  his  departure,  with  having  disappointed  all  those  dreams 
of  military  ser\'ice  and  glory  that  are  almost  the  natural  inheri- 
tance of  ft  Macleod  of  the  Western  Highlands  ?     If  he  was  a  stay- 


THE    SIX    BOYS    OF    DARE.     "  11 

at-home,  at  least  his  hands  were  not  wliite.  And  yet,  when 
young  Ogilvie  and  he  studied  under  the  same  tutor  —  the  poor 
man  had  to  travel  eighteen  miles  between  the  two  houses,  many 
a  time  in  hard  weather — all  the  talk  and  aspirations  of  the  boys 
were  about  a  soldier's  life ;  and  Macleod  could  show  his  friend 
the  various  trophies  and  curiosities  sent  home  by  his  elder  broth- 
ers from  all  parts  of  the  world.  And  now  the  lily-fingered  and 
gentle -natured  Ogilvie  was  at  Aldershot;  while  he  —  what  else 
was  be  than  a  mere  deer-stalker  and  salmon-killer  ? 

"  Ogilvie  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  mother,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  lie  has  sent  me  a  list  of  places  in  London  where  I  am  to  get 
my  clothes,  and  boots,  and  a  hat ;  and  by  the  time  I  have  done 
that,  he  will  be  up  from  Aldershot,  and  will  lead  me  about — with 
a  strino"  round  my  neck,  I  suppose,  lest  I  should  bite  somebody." 

"  You  could  not  go  better  to  London  than  in  your  own  tartan," 
said  the  proud  mother;  "  and  it  is  not  for  an  Ogilvie  to  say  how 
a  Macleod  shall  be  dressed.  But  it  is  no  matter.  One  after  the 
other  has  gone;  the  house  is  left  empty  at  last.  And  they  all 
went  away  like  you,  with  a  laugh  on  their  face.  It  was  but  a 
trip,  a  holiday,  they  said :  they  would  soon  be  back  to  Dare, 
And  where  are  they  this  night  2" 

Old  Ilamish  came  in. 

"It  will  be  time  for  the  boat  now.  Sir  Keith,  and  the  men  are 
down  at  the  shore." 

He  rose  —  the  handsome  young  fellow  —  and  took  his  broad, 
blue  bonnet  with  the  badge  of  juniper. 

"  Good-bye,  Cousin  Janet,"  said  he,  lightly.  "  Good-bye,  moth- 
er. You  are  not  going  to  send  me  away  in  this  sad  fashion  ? 
"What  am  I  to  bring  you  back — a  satin  gown  from  Paris?  or  a 
young  bride  to  cheer  up  the  old  house  ?" 

She  took  no  heed  of  the  passing  jest.  He  kissed  her,  and  bade 
her  good-bye  once  more.  The  clear  stars  were  shining  over  Cas- 
tle Dare,  and  over  the  black  shadows  of  the  mountains,  and 
the  smoothly  swelling  waters  of  the  Atlantic.  There  was  a  dull 
booming  of  the  waves  along  the  rocks. 

He  had  thrown  his  plaid  around  him,  and  he  was  wondering 
to  himself  as  he  descended  the  steep  path  to  the  shore.  He  could 
not  believe  that  the  two  women  were  really  saddened  by  his  go- 
ing to  the  south  for  a  Avhile;  he  was  not  given  to  forebodings. 
And  he  had  nearly  reached  the  shore,  when  he  was  overtaken 


12  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 

by  some  one  running  -with  a  light  step  bcliind  liim.  lie  turned 
quickly,  and  found  Lis  cousin  before  him,  a  shawl  thrown  round 
her  head  and  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  Keith,"  said  she,  in  a  bright  and  matter-of-fact  way,  "  I 
have  a  message  for  you — from  myself — and  I  did  not  want  aunt 
to  hear,  for  she  is  very  proud,  you  know,  and  I  hope  you  won't 
be.  You  know  we  are  all  very  poor,  Keith  ;  and  yet  you  must 
not  want  money  in  London,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  family ; 
and  you  know  I  have  a  little,  Keith,  and  I  want  you  to  take  it. 
You  won't  mind  my  being  frank  with  you.  I  have  written  a 
letter." 

She  had  the  envelope  in  her  hand. 

"And  if  I  would  take  money  from  any  one,  it  would  be  from 
you,  Cousin  Janet ;  but  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  that.  What  would 
all  the  poor  people  do  if  I  were  to  take  your  money  to  London 
and  spend  it?" 

"  I  have  kept  a  little,"  said  she,  "  and  it  is  not  much  that  is 
needed.  It  is  £2000  I  would  like  you  to  take  from  me,  Keith. 
I  have  written  a  letter." 

"  Why,  bless  me,  Janet,  that  is  nearly  all  the  monev  you've 
got!" 

"  I  know  it." 

"Well,  I  may  not  be  able  to  earn  any  money  for  myself,  but 
at  least  I  would  not  think  of  squandering  your  little  fortune. 
No,  no ;  but  I  thank  you  all  the  same,  Janet ;  and  I  know  that  it 
is  with  a  free  heart  that  you  offer  it." 

"  But  this  is  a  favor,  Keith,"  said  she.  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
spend  the  money.  But  you  might  be  in  trouble  ;  and  you  would 
be  too  proud  to  ask  any  one — perhaps  you  would  not  even  ask 
me ;  and  here  is  a  letter  that  you  can  keep  till  then,  and  if  you 
should  want  the  money,  you  can  open  the  letter,  and  it  will  tell 
you  how  to  get  it." 

"And  it  is  a  poor  forecast  you  are  making.  Cousin  Janet,"  said 
he,  cheerfully.  "  I  am  to  play  the  prodigal  son,  then  !  But  I 
will  take  the  letter.  And  good-bye  again,  Janet;  and  God  bless 
you,  for  you  are  a  kind-hearted  woman." 

She  went  swiftly  up  to  Castle  Dare  again,  and  he  walked  on 
toward  the  shore.  By-and-by  he  reached  a  small  stone  pier  that 
ran  out  among  some  rocks,  and  by  the  side  of  it  lay  a  small  sail- 
ing launch,  with  four  men  in  her,  and  Donald  the  piper  boy  perch- 


THE    SIX    BOYS    OF    DARE.  13 

cd  up  at  the  bow.  There  was  a  lamp  swinging  at  her  mast,  but 
she  had  no  sail  up,  for  there  was  scarcely  any  wind. 

"  Is  it  time  to  a'o  out  now  ?"  said  Macleod  to  ilamish,  Avho 
stood  waiting  on  the  pier,  having  carried  down  his  master's  poit- 
manteau. 

"Ay,  it  will  be  time  now,  even  if  you  will  wait  a  little,"  said 
Hamish.  And  then  the  old  man  added,  "  It  is  a  dark  night,  Sir 
Keith,  for  your  going  away  from  Castle  Dare." 

"And  it  will  be  the  brighter  morning  when  I  come  back,"  an- 
swered the  young  man,  for  he  could  not  mistake  the  intention  of 
the  words. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Sir  Keith ;  and  now  you  will  go  into  the  boat, 
and  you  will  take  care  of  your  footing,  for  the  night  is  dark,  and 
the  rocks  they  are  always  slippery  whatever." 

But  Keith  Macleod's  foot  was  as  familiar  with  the  soft  sea- 
weed of  the  rocks  as  it  was  with  the  hard  heather  of  the  hills, 
and  he  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  into  the  broad-beamed  boat. 
The  men  put  out  their  oars  and  pushed  her  off.  And  now,  in  the 
dark  night,  the  skirl  of  the  pipes  rose  again ;  and  it  was  no  state- 
ly and  mournful  lament  that  young  Donald  played  up  there  at 
the  bow  as  the  four  oars  struck  the  sea  and  sent  a  flash  of  Avhite 
fire  down  into  the  deeps. 

"Donald,"  Hamish  had  said  to  him  on  the  shore,  "  when  you 
are  going  out  to  the  steamer,  it  is  the  '  Seventy-ninth's  Farewell 
to  Chubralter '  that  you  will  play,  and  you  v.ill  play  no  other 
thing  than  that." 

And  surely  the  Seventy-ninth  Wv.'tc  not  sorry  to  leave  Gibraltar 
when  their  piper  composed  for  them  so  glad  a  farewell. 

At  the  high  windows  of  Castle  Dare  the  mother  stood,  and  her 
niece,  and  as  they  watched  the  yellow  lamp  move  slowly  out  from 
the  black  shore,  they  heard  this  proud  and  joyous  march  that 
Donald  was  playing  to  herald  the  approach  of  his  master.  They 
listened  to  it  as  it  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  as  the  small  yel- 
low star  trembling  over  the  dark  waters  became  more  and  more 
remote.  And  then  this  other  sound — this  blowing  of  a  steam- 
whistle  far  away  in  the  darkness  ? 

"  He  will  be  in  good  time,  aunt ;  she  is  a  long  way  off  yet," 
said  Janet  Macleod.     But  the  mother  did  not  speak. 

Out  there  on  the  dark  and  moving  waters  the  great  steamer 
was  slowly  drawing  near  the  open  boat;  and  as  she  came  up, 


14  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

the  vast  hull  of  her,  seen  against  the  star-lit  sky,  seemed  a 
momitain. 

"  Now,  Donald,"  Macleod  called  out,  "  you  will  take  the  dog — 
here  is  the  string;  and  you  will  see  he  does  not  spring  into  the 
water." 

"Yes,  I  will  take  the  dog,"  muttered  the  boy,  half  to  himself. 
"  Oh  yes,  I  will  take  the  dog ;  but  it  was  better  if  I  was  going 
with  you.  Sir  Keith,  than  any  dog." 

A  rope  was  thrown  out,  the  boat  dragged  up  to  the  side  of  the 
steamer,  the  small  gangway  let  down,  and  presently  Macleod  was 
on  the  deck  of  the  large  vessel.  Then  Oscar  was  hauled  up  too, 
and  the  rope  flung  loose,  and  the  boat  drifted  away  into  the 
darkness.  But  the  last  good-bye  had  not  been  said,  for  over  the 
black  waters  came  the  sound  of  the  pipes  once  more,  the  melan- 
cholv  wail  of  "  Mackintosh's  Lament." 

"  Confound  that  obstinate  brat !"  Macleod  said  to  himself. 
"Now  he  v.ill  go  back  to  Castle  Dare  and  make  the  women  mis- 
erable." 

"  The  captain  is  below  at  liis  supper,  Sir  Keith,"  said  the  mate. 
"  Will  you  go  down  to  him  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will  go  down  to  him,"  said  he;  and  he  made  his  way 
along  the  deck  of  the  steamer. 

He  was  arrested  by  the  sound  of  some  one  crying,  and  he  look- 
ed down,  and  found  a  woman  crouched  under  the  bulwarks,  with 
two  small  children  asleep  on  her  knee. 

"  My  good  woman,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  said  he. 

"The  night  is  cold,"  she  said,  in  the  Gaelic,  "and  my  children 
are  cold ;  and  it  is  a  long  way  that  we  are  going." 

He  answered  her  in  her  own  tongue. 

"  You  will  be  warmer  if  you  go  below ;  but  here  is  a  plaid  for 
you,  anyway ;"  and  with  that  he  took  the  plaid  from  round  his 
shoulders  and  flung  it  across  tlie  children,  and  passed  on. 

That  was  the  way  of  the  Macleods  of  Dare.  They  had  a  royal 
manner  with  them.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  that  their  rev- 
enues were  now  far  from  royal. 

And  meanwhile  the  red  light  still  burned  in  the  high  windows 
of  Castle  Dare,  and  two  women  were  there  looking  out  on  the 
pale  stars  and  the  dark  sea  beneath.  They  -waited  until  they 
heard  the  plashing  of  oars  in  the  small  bay  below,  and  the  mes- 
sage was  brought  them  that  Sir  Keith  had  got  safely  on  board 


MENTOR.  15 

the  great  steamer.  Then  they  turned  away  from  the  silent  and 
empty  night,  and  one  of  them  was  weeping  bitterly. 

"  It  is  the  hist  of  my  six  sons  that  lias  gone  from  me,"  slic 
said,  coming  back  to  the  old  refrain,  and  refusing  to  be  com- 
forted. 

"And  I  have  lost  my  brother,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  in  her  sim- 
ple way.  "  But  he  Avill  come  back  to  us,  auntie ;  and  then  we 
shall  have  great  doings  at  Castle  Dare." 


CHAPTER  II. 

MENTOU. 

It  was  with  a  wholly  indescribable  surprise  and  delight  that 
Macleod  came  upon  the  life  and  stir  and  gayety  of  London  in  the 
sweet  June  time,  when  the  parks  and  gardens  and  squares  would 
of  themselves  have  been  a  sufficient  wonder  to  him.  The  change 
from  the  sombre  shores  of  lochs  Na  Kcal,  and  lua,  and  Scridain 
to  this  world  of  sun-lit  foliage — the  golden  yellow  of  the  labur- 
num, the  cream-white  of  the  chestnut,  the  rose-pink  of  the  red  haw- 
thorn, and  everywhere  the  keen,  translucent  green  of  the  young 
lime-trees — was  enough  to  fill  the  heart  with  joy  and  gladness, 
though  he  had  been  no  diligent  student  of  landscape  and  color. 
The  few  days  he  had  to  spend  by  himself — while  getting  properly 
dressed  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  his  friend  —  passed  quickly 
enough.  He  was  not  at  all  ashamed  of  his  country-made  clothes 
as  he  watched  the  whirl  of  carriages  in  Piccadilly,  or  lounged 
under  the  elms  at  Hyde  Park,  with  his  beautiful  silver -white 
and  lemon-colored  collie  attracting  the  admiration  of  every  pass- 
er-by. Nor  had  he  waited  for  the  permission  of  Lieutenant  Ogil- 
vie  to  make  his  entrance  into,  at  least,  one  little  corner  of  society. 
He  was  recognized  in  St.  James's  Street  one  morning  by  a  noble 
lady  whom  he  had  met  once  or  twice  at  Inverness ;  and  she,  hav- 
ing stopped  her  carriage,  was  pleased  to  ask  him  to  lunch  with 
herself  and  her  husband  next  day.  To  the  great  grief  of  Oscar, 
v^ho  had  to  be  shut  up  by  himself,  Macleod  went  up  next  day  to 
Brook  Street,  and  there  met  several  people  whose  names  he  knew 
as  representatives  of  old  Highland  families,  but  who  were  very 
English,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  in  their  speech  and  ways.     He  was 


16  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

rather  petted,  for  he  was  a  liandsome  lad,  and  he  had  high  spirits 
and  a  proud  air.  And  his  hostess  was  so  kind  as  to  mention  that 
the  Caledonian  Ball  was  coming  oS  on  the  25tli,  and  of  course 
he  must  come,  in  the  Highland  costume ;  and  as  she  was  one  of 
the  patronesses,  should  she  give  him  a  voucher?  Macleod  an- 
swered, laughingly,  that  he  would  be  glad  to  have  it,  though  he 
did  not  know  what  it  was;  whereupon  she  was  pleased  to  say 
that  no  wonder  he  lauo'hed  at  the  notion  of  a  voucher  beino- 
wanted  for  any  Macleod  of  Dare. 

One  morning  a  good-looking  and  slim  young  man  knocked  at 
the  door  of  a  small  house  in  Bury  Street,  St.  James's,  and  asked 
if  Sir  Keith  Macleod  was  at  home.  The  man  said  he  was,  and 
the  young  gentleman  entered.  He  was  a  most  correctly  dressed 
person.  His  hat,  and  gloves,  and  cane,  and  long-tailed  frock-coat 
were  all  beautiful ;  but  it  was,  perhaps,  the  tightness  of  his  neth- 
er garments,  or,  perhaps,  the  tightness  of  his  brilliantly-polished 
boots  (which  were  partially  covered  by  white  gaiters),  that  made 
him  go  up  the  narrow  little  stairs  with  some  precision  of  caution. 
The  door  was  opened  and  he  was  announced. 

"  My  dear  old  boy,"  said  he,  "  how  do  you  do  ?"  and  Macleod 
gave  liim  a  grip  of  the  hand  that  nearly  burst  one  of  his  gloves. 

But  at  this  moment  an  awful  accident  occurred.  From  behind 
the  door  of  the  adjacent  bedroom,  Oscar,  the  collie,  sprang  for- 
ward with  an  angry  growl ;  then  he  seemed  to  recognize  the  sit- 
uation of  affairs,  v/hen  he  saw  his  master  holding  the  stranger's 
hand;  then  he  began  to  wag  his  tail;  then  he  jumped  up  with 
his  fore-paws  to  give  a  kindly  welcome. 

"Hang  it  all,  Macleod!"  young  Ogilvie  cried,  with  all  the 
starch  gone  out  of  his  manner;  "your  dog's  all  wet!  What's 
the  use  of  keeping  a  brute  like  that  about  the  place  ?" 

Alas !  the  beautiful,  brilliant  boots  were  all  besmeared,  and 
the  white  gaiters  too,  and  the  horsey- looking  nether  garments. 
Moreover,  the  Highland  savage,  so  far  from  betraying  compunc- 
tion, burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  cried,  "  I  put  him  in  my  bedroom  to 
dry.  I  couldn't  do  more,  could  I  ?  He  has  just  been  in  the  Ser- 
pentine." 

"  I  wish  he  was  there  now,  with  a  stone  and  a  string  round  his 
neck !"  observed  Lieutenant  Ogilvie,  looking  at  his  boots ;  but  he 
repented  him  of  this  rash  saying,  for  within  a  week  he  had  of- 


MENTOR.  17 

fered  Maclcod  £20  for  the  dog.  He  nilglit  have  offered  twenty 
dozen  of  £20,  and  thrown  his  polished  boots  and  his  gaiters  too 
into  the  bargain,  and  he  would  have  had  the  same  answer, 

Oscar  was  once  more  banished  into  the  bedroom ;  and  Mr. 
Ogilvie  sat  down,  pretending  to  take  no  more  notice  of  his  boots. 
Macleod  put  some  sherry  on  the  table,  and  a  handful  of  cigars ; 
his  friend  asked  whether  he  could  not  have  a  glass  of  seltzer- 
water  and  a  cigarette. 

"And  how  do  you  like  the  rooms  I  got  for  you?" 

"  There  is  not  much  fresh  air  about  them,  nor  in  this  narrow 
street,"  Macleod  said,  frankly  ;  "  but  that  is  no  matter,  for  I  have 
been  out  all  day — all  over  London," 

"  I  thought  the  price  was  as  high  as  you  would  care  to  go," 
Ogilvie  said  ;  "  but  I  forgot  you  had  come  fresh  up,  with  your 
pockets  full  of  money.  If  you  would  like  something  a  tritle 
more  princely,  I'll  put  you  up  to  it." 

"And  where  have  I  got  the  money  ?  There  are  no  gold  mines 
in  the  west  of  Mull.     It  is  you  who  are  Fortunatus." 

"By  Jove,  if  you  knew  how  hard  a  fellow  is  run  at  Aldershot," 
Mr.  Ogilvie  remarked,  confidentially,  "  you  would  scarcely  believe 
it.  Every  new  batch  of  fellows  who  come  in  have  to  be  dined 
all  round ;  and  the  mess  bills  are  simply  awful.  It's  getting 
worse  and  worse;  and  then  these  big  drinks  put  one  off  one's 
work  so." 

"You  are  studying  hard,  I  suppose,"  Macleod  said,  quite 
gravely. 

"Pretty  well,"  said  he,  stretching  out  his  legs,  and  petting  his 
pretty  mustache  with  his  beautiful  white  hand.  Then  he  added, 
suddenly,  surveying  the  brown-faced  and  stalwart  young  fellow 
before  him,  "  By  Jove,  Macleod,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  in  London. 
It's  like  a  breath  of  mountain  air.  Don't  I  remember  the  awful 
mornings  we've  had  together — the  rain  and  the  mist  and  the 
creeping  through  the  bogs  ?  I  believe  you  did  your  best  to  kill 
me.  If  I  hadn't  had  the  constitution  of  a  horse,  I  should  have 
been  killed." 

"  I  should  say  your  big  drinks  at  Aldershot  were  more  likely 
to  kill  you  than  going  after  the  deer,"  said  Macleod.  "And  will 
you  come  up  with  me  this  autumn,  Ogilvie?  The  mother  will 
be  glad  to  see  you,  and  Janet  too ;  though  we  haven't  got  any 
iine  young  ladies  for  you  to  make  love  to,  unless  you  go  up  to 


18  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

Fort  William,  or  Fort  George,  or  Inverness.  And  I  was  all  over 
the  moors  before  I  came  away;  and  if  there  is  anything  like 
good  Aveather,  we  shall  have  plenty  of  birds  this  year,  for  I  never 
saw  before  such  a  big  average  of  eggs  in  the  nests." 

"I  wonder  you  don't  let  part  of  that  shooting,"  said  young 
Ogilvie,  who  knew  well  of  the  straitened  circumstances  of  the 
Macleods  of  Dare. 

"  The  mother  won't  have  it  done,"  said  Macleod,  quite  simply, 
"  for  she  thinks  it  keeps  me  at  home.  But  a  young  man  cannot 
always  stay  at  home.  It  is  very  good  for  you,  Ogilvie,  that  you 
have  brothers." 

."Yes,  if  I  had  been  the  eldest  of  them,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie. 
"It  is  a  capital  thing  to  have  younger  brothers;  it  isn't  half  so 
pleasant  when  you  are  the  younger  brother." 

"And  will  you  come  up,  then,  and  bury  yourself  alive  at 
Dare  ?" 

"  It  is  awfully  good  of  you  to  ask  rae,  Macleod ;  and  if  I  can 
manage  it,  I  will ;  but  I  am  afraid  there  isn't  much  chance  this 
year.  In  the  mean  time,  let  rae  give  you  a  hint.  In  London  we 
talk  of  going  down  to  the  Highlands." 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  I  did  not  think  you  were  so  stupid,"  Macleod 
remarked. 

"  Why,  of  course  we  do.  You  speak  of  going  up  to  the  cap- 
ital of  a  country,  and  of  going  down  to  the  provinces." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right  —  no  doubt  you  are  right;  but  it 
sounds  stupid,"  the  unconvinced  Highlander  observed  again. 
"  It  sounds  stupid  to  say  going  up  to  the  south,  and  going  down 
to  the  north.  And  how  can  you  go  down  to  the  Highlands? 
you  might  go  down  to  the  Lowlands.  But  no  doubt  you  are 
right;  and  I  will  be  more  particular.  And  will  you  have  an- 
other cigarette  ?  and  then  we  will  go  out  for  a  walk,  and  Oscar 
will  get  drier  in  the  street  than  in-doors." 

"Don't  imagine  I  am  going  out  to  have  that  dog  plunging 
about  among  my  feet,"  said  Ogilvie.  "  But  I  have  something 
else  for  you  to  do.     You  know  Colonel  Ross  of  Duntorme." 

"  I  have  heard  of  him." 

"  His  wife  is  an  awfully  nice  woman,  and  would  like  to  meet 
you.  I  fancy  they  think  of  buying  some  property — I  am  not 
sure  it  isn't  an  island — in  your  part  of  the  country ;  and  she  has 
never  been  to  the  Highlands  at  all.     I  was  to  take  you  down 


MENTOK.  Ijj 

with  me  to  lunch  with  her  at  two,  if  you  care  to  go.  There  is 
her  card." 

Macleod  looked  at  the  card. 

"How  far  is  Prince's  Gate  from  here?"  he  asked. 

"A  mile  and  a  half,  I  should  say." 

"And  it  is  now  twenty  minutes  to  two,"  said  he,  rising,  "It 
will  be  a  nice  smart  walk." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie ;  "  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  yon, 
we  will  perform  the  journey  in  a  hansom.  I  am  not  in  training 
just  at  present  for  your  tramps  to  Ben-an-Sloich." 

"  Ah !  your  boots  arc  rather  tight,"  said  Macleod,  with  grave 
sympathy. 

They  got  into  a  hansom,  and  went  spinning  along  through  the 
crowd  of  carriages  on  this  brilliant  morning.  The  busy  streets, 
the  handsome  women,  the  fine  buildings,  the  bright  and  beautiful 
foliage  of  the  parks — all  these  were  a  perpetual  wonder  and  de- 
light to  the  new-comer,  who  Avas  as  eager  in  the  enjoyment  of 
this  gay  v/orld  of  pleasure  and  activity  as  any  girl  come  up  for 
her  first  season.  Perhaps  this  notion  occurred  to  the  astute  and 
experienced  Lieutenant  Ogilvie,  who  considered  it  his  duty  to 
warn  his  youthful  and  ingenuous  friend. 

"Mrs.  Ross  is  a  very  handsome  woman,"  he  remarked. 

"  Indeed." 

"And  uncommonly  fascinating,  too,  when  she  likes." 

"  Really." 

"  You  had  better  look  out,  if  she  tries  to  fascinate  you." 

"  She  is  a  married  woman,"  said  Macleod. 

"They  are  always  the  worst,"  said  this  wise  person ;  "for  they 
are  jealous  of  the  younger  women." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  nonsense,"  said  Macleod,  bluntly.  "I  am  not 
such  a  greenhorn.  I  have  read  all  that  kind  of  talk  in  books  and 
magazines :  it  is  ridiculous.  Do  you  think  I  will  believe  that 
married  women  have  so  little  self-respect  as  to  make  themselves 
the  laufrhino;-stock  of  men  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  they  have  cart-loads  of  self-respect.  What 
I  mean  is,  that  Mrs.  Ross  is  a  bit  of  a  lion-hunter,  and  she  may 
take  a  fancy  to  make  a  lion  of  you — " 

"  That  is  better  than  to  make  an  ass  of  me,  as  you  suggested." 

"  — And  naturally  she  will  try  to  attach  you  to  her  set.  I 
don't  think  you  are  quite  outre  enough  for  her  ;  perhaps  I  madp 


20  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

a  mistake  in  putting  yon  into  decent  clothes.  Yuu  wouldn't 
liavo  time  to  get  into  your  kilts  now  ?  But  you  must  be  pre- 
pared to  meet  all  sorts  of  queer  folks  at  licr  house,  especially  if 
you  stay  on  a  bit  and  have  some  tea — mysterious  poets  that  no- 
body ever  heard  of,  and  artists  who  won't  exhibit,  and  awful 
swells  from  the  German  universities,  and  I  don't  know  what  be- 
sides— everybody  who  isn't  the  least  like  anybody  else." 

"And  what  is  your  claim,  then,  to  go  there  ?"  Macleod  asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  young  lieutenant,  laughing  at  the  home-thrust, 
"  I  am  only  admitted  on  sufferance,  as  a  friend  of  Colonel  Ross. 
She  never  asked  me  to  put  my  name  in  her  autograph  -  book. 
But  I  have  done  a  bit  of  the  jackal  for  her  once  or  twice,  when 
I  happened  to  be  on  leave  ;  and  she  has  sent  me  with  people  to 
her  box  at  Covent  Garden  when  she  couldn't  go  herself," 

"  And  how  am  I  to  propitiate  her  ?     What  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"  She  will  soon  let  you  know  how  you  strike  her.  Either  she 
will  pet  you,  or  she  will  snuff  you  out  like  winking.  I  don't 
know  a  woman  who  has  a  blanker  stare,  when  she  likes," 

This  idle  conversation  was  suddenly  interrupted.  At  the  same 
moment  both  young  men  experienced  a  sinking  sensation,  as  if 
the  earth  had  been  cut  away  from  beneath  their  feet ;  then  there 
was  a  crash,  and  they  were  violently  thrown  against  each  other ; 
then  they  vaguely  knew  that  the  cab,  heeling  over,  was  being 
jolted  along  the  street  by  a  runaway  horse.  Fortunately,  the 
horse  could  not  run  very  fast,  for  the  axle-tree,  deprived  of  its 
wheel,  Avas  tearing  at  the  road ;  but,  all  the  same,  the  occupants 
of  the  cab  thought  they  might  as  well  get  out,  and  so  they  tried 
to  force  open  the  two  small  panels  of  the  door  in  front  of  them. 
But  the  concussion  had  so  jammed  these  together  that,  shove  at 
them  as  they  might,  they  would  not  yield.  At  this  juncture, 
Macleod,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  hansom  cabs,  and  did  not 
at  all  like  this  first  experience  of  them,  determined  to  get  out 
somehow ;  and  so  he  raised  himself  a  bit,  so  as  to  get  his  back 
firm  against  the  back  of  the  vehicle ;  he  pulled  up  his  leg  until 
his  knee  almost  touched  his  mouth;  he  got  the  heel  of  his  boot 
firmly  fixed  on  the  top  edge  of  the  door ;  and  then  with  one  for- 
ward drive  he  tore  the  panel  riglit  away  from  its  hinges.  The 
other  was  of  course  flung  open  at  once.  Then  he  grasped  the 
brass  rail  outside,  steadied  himself  for  a  moment,  and  jumped 
clear  from  the  cab,  alighting  on  the  pavement.     Strange  to  say, 


MENTOR.  21 

Ogilvie  did  not  follow,  though  Macleod,  as  be  rushed  along  to 
try  to  get  hold  of  the  horse,  momentarily  expected  to  see  him 
jump  out.  Ilis  anxiety  was  of  short  duration.  The  axle-tree 
caught  on  the  curb ;  there  was  a  sudden  lurch ;  and  then,  with  a 
crash  of  glass,  the  cab  went  right  over,  throwing  down  the  horse, 
and  pitching  the  driver  into  the  street.  It  was  all  the  work  of  a 
few  seconds  ;  and  another  second  seemed  to  suffice  to  collect  n 
crowd,  even  in  this  quiet  part  of  Kensington  Gore.  But,  after 
all,  very  little  damage  was  done,  except  to  the  horse,  which  had 
cut  one  of  its  hocks.  When  young  Mr.  Ogilvie  scrambled  out 
and  got  on  to  the  pavement,  instead  of  being  grateful  that  his 
life  had  been  spared,  he  was  in  a  towering  passion — with  whom 
or  what  he  knew  not. 

"Why  didn't  you  jump  out?''  said  Macleod  to  him,  after  see- 
inor  tliat  the  cabman  was  all  rioht. 

Ogilvie  did  not  answer;  he  was  looking  at  his  besmeared  hands 
and  dishevelled  clothes. 

"  Confound  it !"  said  he  ;  "  what's  to  be  done  now  ?  The  house 
is  just  round  the  corner." 

"  Let  us  go  in,  and  they  will  lend  you  a  clothes-brush." 

"  As  if  I  had  been  figliting  a  bargee  ?  No,  thank  you.  I  will 
go  along  till  I  find  some  tavern,  and  get  myself  put  to  rights." 

And  this  he  did  gloomily,  Macleod  accompanying  him.  It  was 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  he  had  completed  his  toilet; 
and  then  they  set  out  to  walk  back  to  Prince's  Gate.  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie was  in  a  better  humor. 

"  What  a  fellow  you  are  to  jump,  Macleod  1"  said  he.  "  If  you 
had  cannoned  against  that  policeman  you  would  have  killed  him. 
And  you  never  paid  the  cabman  for  destroying  the  lid  of  the 
door;  you  prized  the  thing  clean  off  its  hinges.  You  must  have 
the  strength  of  a  giant." 

"  But  where  the  people  came  from — it  was  tliat  surprised  rac," 
said  Macleod,  who  seemed  to  have  rather  enjoyed  the  adventure. 
*'  It  was  like  one  of  our  sea-lochs  in  the  Highlands — you  look  all 
round  and  cannot  find  any  gull  anywhere ;  but  throw  a  biscuit 
into  the  water,  and  you  will  find  them  appearing  from  all  quar- 
ters at  once.  As  for  the  door,  I  forgot  that ;  but  I  gave  the  man 
half  a  sovereign  to  console  him  for  his  shaking.  Was  not  that 
enough  ?" 

"  We  shall  be  frightfully  lato  for  luncheon,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie, 
with  some  concern. 


22  MACLEOD    OF    DARE, 


CHAPTER  III. 

FIONAGHAL. 

And,  indeed,  wlion  they  entered  the  house — the  balconies  and 
windows  were  a  blaze  of  flowers  all  shining  in  the  sun — they  found 
that  their  host  and  hostess  had  already  come  down-stairs,  and  Avere 
seated  at  table  with  their  small  party  of  guests.  Tliis  circum- 
stance did  not  lessen  Sir  Keith  Macleod's  trepidation ;  for  there 
is  no  denying  the  fact  that  the  young  man  would  rather  have 
faced  an  angry  bull  on  a  Highland  road  than  this  party  of  people 
in  the  hushed  and  semi-darkened  and  flower-scented  room.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  his  appearance  was  the  signal  for  a  confusion 
that  was  equivalent  to  an  earthquake.  Two  or  three  servants — 
all  more  solemn  than  any  clergyman  —  began  to  make  new  ar- 
rangements ;  a  tall  lady,  benign  of  aspect,  rose  and  most  gracious- 
ly received  him  ;  a  tall  gentleman,  with  a  gray  mustache,  shook 
hands  with  him ;  and  then,  as  he  vaguely  lieard  young  Ogilvie, 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  relate  the  incident  of  the  upsetting 
of  the  cab,  he  found  himself  seated  next  to  this  benign  lady,  and 
apparently  in  a  bewildering  paradise  of  beautiful  lights  and  colors 
and  delicious  odors.  Asparagus. soup?  Yes,  he  would  take  that; 
but  for  a  second  or  two  this  spacious  and  darkened  room,  with 
its  stained  glass  and  its  sombre  walls,  and  the  table  before  him, 
with  its  masses  of  roses  and  lilies-of-the-valley,  its  silver,  its  crys- 
tal, its  nectarines,  and  cherries,  and  pine-apples,  seemed  some  kind 
of  enchanted  place.  And  then  the  people  talked  in  a  low  and 
hushed  fashion,  and  the  servants  moved  silently  and  mysteriously, 
and  the  air  was  languid  with  the  scents  of  fruits  and  flowers. 
They  gave  him  some  wine  in  a  tall  green  glass  that  had  transpar- 
ent lizards  crawling  up  its  stem ;  he  had  never  drank  out  of  a 
thing  like  that  before. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  Mr.  Ogilvie  to  get  you  to  come ;  he  is  a 
very  good  boy  ;  he  forgets  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Ross  to  him  ;  and 
as  he  became  aware  that  she  was  a  pleasant-looking  lady  of  mid- 
dle age,  who  regarded  him  with  very  friendly  and  truthful  eyes, 


FIONAGIIAL.  :23 

he  vowed  to  himself  that  he  would  bring  Mr.  Ogilvie  to  task  for 
representing  this  decent  and  respectable  woman  as  a  graceless 
and  dangerous  coquette.  No  doubt  she  was  the  mother  of  chil- 
dren. At  her  time  of  life  she  was  better  emplo^'ed  in  the  nurs- 
ery or  in  the  kitchen  than  in  flirting  with  younc;  men ;  and  could 
lie  doubt  that  she  was  a  good  house-mistres':  when  he  saw  with 
his  own  eyes  how  spick  and  span  everything  was,  and  how  ac- 
curately everything  was  served?  Even  if  his  cousin  Jauet  lived 
in  the  south,  with  all  these  fine  flowers  and  hot-hous3  fruits  to 
serve  her  purpose,  she  could  not  have  done  better.  He  began  to 
like  this  pleasant-eyed  woman,  though  she  seemed  delicate,  and 
a  trifle  languid,  and  in  consequence  he  sometimes  could  not  quite 
make  out  what  she  said.  But  theu  he  noticed  that  the  other 
people  talked  in  this  limp  fashion  too:  t}iere  was  no  precision 
about  their  words ;  frequently  they  seemed  to  leave  you  to  guess 
the  end  of  their  sentences.  As  for  the  young  lady  next  him,  was 
she  not  very  delicate  also  ?  lie  had  never  seen  such  hands — so 
small,  and  fine,  and  white.  And  although  she  talked  only  to  her 
neighbor  on  the  other  side  of  her,  he  could  hear  that  her  voice, 
low  and  musical  as  it  was,  was  only  a  murmur. 

"Miss  White  and  I,"  said  Mrs.  Ross  to  him — and  at  this  mo- 
ment the  young  lady  turned  to  them — "  were  talking  before  you 
came  in  of  the  beautiful  country  you  must  know  so  well,  and  of 
its  romantic  stories  and  associations  with  Prince  Charlie.  Ger- 
trude, let  me  introduce  Sir  Keith  Macleod  to  you.  I  told  Miss 
White  you  might  come  to  us  to-day ;  and  she  was  saying  wliat 
a  pity  it  was  that  Flora  Macdonald  was  not  a  Macleod." 

"  That  was  very  kind,"  said  he,  frankly,  turning  to  this  tall, 
pale  girl,  with  the  rippling  hair  of  golden  brown  and  the  heavy- 
lidded  and  downcast  eyes.  And  then  he  laughed.  "  We  would 
not  like  to  steal  the  honor  from  a  woman,  even  though  she  was 
a  Macdonald,  and  you  know  the  Macdonalds  and  the  Macleods 
were  not  very  friendly  in  the  old  time.  But  we  can  claim  some- 
thing too  about  the  escape  of  Prince  Charlie,  Mrs.  Ross.  After 
Flora  Macdonald  had  got  hiin  safe  from  Harris  to  Skye,  she  liand- 
ed  him  over  to  the  sons  of  Mjicleod  of  Raasay,  and  it  was  owing 
to  them  that  he  got  to  the  main-land.  You  will  find  many  peo- 
ple up  there  to  this  day  who  believe  that  if  Macleod  of  Macleod 
had  gone  out  in  '45,  Prince  Charlie  would  never  have  had  to  flee 
at  all.     But  I  think  the  Macleods  had  done   enough  for  the 


24  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Stuarts ;  and  it  was  but  little  thanks  they  ever  got  in  return,  so 
far  as  I  could  ever  hear.  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Ross,  my  mother 
wears  mourning  every  3d  of  September,  and  will  eat  nothing 
from  morning  till  night.  It  is  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  of 
Worcester ;  and  then  the  Macleods  were  so  smashed  up  that  for 
a  long  time  tlic  other  clans  relieved  them  from  military  service." 

"  You  are  not  much  of  a  Jacobite,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mrs.  Ross, 
smiling. 

"Only  when  I  hear  a  Jacobite  song  sung,"  said  he.  "Then 
who  can  fail  to  be  a  Jacobite?" 

lie  had  become  quite  friendly  with  this  amiable  lady.  If  he 
had  been  afraid  that  his  voice,  in  these  delicate  southern  ears, 
must  sound  like  the  first  guttural  drone  of  Donald's  pipes  at  Cas- 
tle Dare,  he  had  speedily  lost  that  fear.  The  manly,  sun-browned 
face  and  clear-glancing  eyes  were  full  of  animation ;  he  was  op- 
pressed no  longer  by  the  solemnity  of  the  servants ;  so  long  as 
he  talked  to  her  he  was  quite  confident ;  he  had  made  friends 
with  this  friendly  woman.  But  he  had  not  as  yet  dared  to  ad- 
dress the  pale  girl  who  sat  on  his  right,  and  who  seemed  so  frag- 
ile and  beautiful  and  distant  in  manner. 

"After  all,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Ross,  "there  v/ere  no  more  High- 
landers killed  in  the  cause  of  the  Stuarts  than  used  to  be  killed 
every  year  or  two  merely  out  of  the  quarrels  of  the  clans  among 
themselves.  All  about  where  I  live  there  is  scarcely  a  rock,  or  a 
loch,  or  an  island  that  has  not  its  story.  And  I  think,"  added 
lie,  with  a  becoming  modesty,  "that  the  Macleods  were  by  far  the 
most  treacherous  and  savage  and  blood-thirsty  of  the  whole  lot 
of  them." 

And  now  the  fair  stranger  beside  him  addressed  him  for  the 
first  time ;  and  as  she  did  so,  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  him — 
clear,  large  eyes  that  rather  startled  one  when  the  heavy  lids  were 
lifted,  so  full  of  expression  were  they. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  she,  with  a  certain  demure  smile,  "  you  have 
no  wild  deeds  done  there  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  have  become  quite  peaceable  folks  now,"  said  he, 
laughing.  "  Our  spirit  is  quite  broken.  The  wild  boars  are  all 
awav  from  the  islands  now,  even  from  Muick;  we  have  onlv  the 
sheep.  And  the  Mackenzies,  and  the  Macleans,  and  the  Macleods 
— they  are  all  sheep  now." 

Was  it  not  quite  obvious?     How  could  any  one  associate  with 


FIONAGHAL.  25 

tills  brig-lit-faccd  youni^  man  the  fierce  traditions  of  liate  and 
malice  and  revenge,  tliat  make  the  seas  and  islands  of  the  north 
still  more  terrible  in  their  loneliness  ?  Those  were  the  days  of 
strong  wills  and  strong  passions,  and  of  an  easy  disregard  of  in- 
dividual life  when  the  gratification  of  some  set  desire  was  near. 
What  had  this  Macleod  to  do  with  such  scorching  fires  of  hate 
and  of  love  ?  lie  was  playing  with  a  silver  fork  and  half  a  dozen 
strawberries :  Miss  White's  surmise  was  perfectly  natural  and 
correct. 

The  ladies  went  up -stairs,  and  the  men,  after  the  claret  had 
gone  round,  followed  them.  And  now  it  seemed  to  this  rude 
Highlander  that  he  was  only  going  from  wonder  to  wonder. 
Half-way  up  the  narrow  staircase  was  a  large  recess  dimly  lit  by 
the  sunlight  falling  through  stained  glass,  and  there  was  a  small 
fountain  playing  in  the  middle  of  this  grotto,  and  all  around  was 
a  wilderness  of  ferns  dripping  with  the  spray,  while  at  the  en- 
trance two  stone  figures  held  up  magical  globes  on  which  the 
springing  and  falling  water  was  reflected.  Then  from  this  par- 
tial gloom  he  emerged  into  the  drawing-room — a  dream  of  rose- 
pink  and  gold,  with  the  air  sweetened  around  him  by  the  masses 
of  roses  and  tall  lilies  about.  His  eyes  were  rather  bewildered  at 
first;  the  figures  of  the  woriien  seemed  dark  against  the  white 
lace  of  the  windows.  But  as  he  went  forward  to  liis  liostess,  he 
could  make  out  still  further  wonders  of  color ;  for  in  the  balco- 
nies outside,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun,  were  geraniums,  and  lo- 
belias, and  golden  calceolarias,  and  red  snap-dragon,  their  bright 
hues  faintly  tempered  by  the  thin  curtains  through  which  they 
were  seen.  He  could  not  help  expressing  his  admiration  of  these 
thino-s  that  were  so  new  to  him,  for  it  seemed  to  liim  that  he  liad 
come  into  a  land  of  perpetual  summer  and  sunshine  and  glowing 
flowers.  Then  the  luxuriant  greenness  of  the  foliage  on  the  oth- 
er side  of  Exhibition  Road — for  Mrs.  Ross's  house  faced  west- 
ward— was,  as  he  said,  singularly  beautiful  to  one  accustomed  to 
the  windy  skies  of  the  western  isles. 

"But  you  have  not  seen  our  elm  —  our  own  elm,"  said  Mrs. 
Ross,  who  was  arranging  some  azaleas  that  had  just  been  sent 
her.  "  We  are  very  proud  of  our  elm.  Gertrude,  will  you  take 
Sir  Keith  to  see  our  noble  elm  ?" 

He  had  almost  forgotten  who  Gertrude  was ;  but  the  next  sec- 
ond he  recognized  the  low  and  almost  timid  voice  that  said, 


2G  MACLKOD    OF    DARE. 

"  Will  you  come  this  way,  then,  Sir  Keith  f 

lie  turned,  and  found  that  it  was  Miss  White  who  spoke. 
How  was  it  that  this  girl,  wlio  was  only  a  girl,  seemed  to  do 
things  so  easily,  and  gently,  and  naturally,  without  any  trace  of 
embarrassment  or  self  -  consciousness  ?  lie  followed  her,  and 
knew  not  which  to  admire  the  more,  the  careless  simplicity  of 
her  manner,  or  the  singular  symmetry  of  her  tall  and  slender  fig- 
ure. He  had  never  seen  any  statue  or  any  picture  in  any  book 
to  be  compared  with  this  woman,  who  was  so  fine,  and  rare,  and 
delicate  that  she  seemed  only  a  beautiful  tall  flower  in  this  g;u-- 
dcn  of  flowers.  There  was  a  strange  simplicity,  too,  about  her 
dress  —  a  plain,  tight  -  fitting,  tight  -  sleeved  dress  of  unrelieved 
black,  her  only  adornment  being  some  bands  of  big  blue  beads 
worn  loosely  round  the  neck.  The  black  figure,  in  this  shimmer 
of  rose -pink  and  gold  and  flowei-s,  was  effective  enough;  but 
even  the  finest  of  pictures  or  the  finest  of  statues  has  not  tlie 
subtle  attraction  of  a  graceful  carriage.  Macleod  had  never  seen 
any  woman  walk  as  this  woman  walked,  in  so  stately  and  yet  so 
simple  a  way. 

From  Mrs.  Ross's  chief  drawing-room  they  passed  into  an  ante- 
di'awing-room,  which  was  partly  a  passage  and  partly  a  conserv- 
atory. On  the  window  side  were  some  rows  of  Cape  heaths,  on 
the  wall  side  son^e  rows  of  blue  and  white  plates ;  and  it  was  one 
of  the  latter  that  was  engaging  the  attention  of  two  persons  in 
this  anteroom — Colonel  Ross  himself,  and  a  little  old  gentleman 
in  gold-rimmed  spectacles. 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you  to  my  father  T  said  Miss  White  to  her 
companion ;  and,  after  a  word  or  two,  tliey  passed  on. 

"I  think  papa  is  invaluable  to  Colonel  Ross,"  said  she;  "he  is 
as  good  as  an  auctioneer  at  telling  the  value  of  china.  Look  at 
this  beautiful  heath.     Mrs.  Ross  is  very  proud  of  her  heaths." 

The  small  white  fingei-s  scarcely  touched  the  beautiful  blos- 
soms of  the  plant ;  but  which  were  the  more  palely  roseate  and 
waxen?  If  one  were  to  grasp  that  hand — in  some  sudden  mo- 
ment of  entreaty,  in  the  sharp  joy  of  reconciliation,  in  the  agony 
of  farewell — would  it  not  be  crushed  like  a  frail  flower? 

"  There  is  our  elm,"  said  she,  lightly.  "  Mrs.  Ross  and  T  re- 
gard it  as  our  own,  we  have  sketched  it  so  often." 

They  had  emerged  from  the  conservatory  into  a  small  square 
room,  which  was  practically  a  continuation  of  the  diawing-roonj. 


FIONAGIIAL.  27 

l»ut  wliicli  was  uccoratcd  in  pale  blue  ami  .silver,  and  filled  with  a 
lot  of  knick-knacks  that  showed  it  was  doubtless  Mrs.  Ross's  bou- 
doir. And  out  there,  in  the  clear  June  sunshine,  lay  tlie  broad 
greensward  behind  Prince's  Gate,  with  the  one  splendid  ehn 
spreading  his  broad  branches  into  the  blue  sky,  and  throwing  a 
soft  shadow  on  the  coi-ner  of  the  gardens  next  to  the  house. 
How  sweet  and  still  it  was! — as  stifl  as  the  calm,  clear  liixlit  in 
this  girl's  eyes.  There  v.-as  no  passion  there,  and  no  trouble ; 
only  the  light  of  a  June  day,  and  of  blue  skies,  and  a  peaceful 
soul.  She  rested  the  tips  of  her  fingers  on  a  small  rosewood  ta- 
ble that  stood  by  the  window  :  surely,  if  a  spirit  ever  lived  in  any 
table,  the  wood  of  this  table  must  have  thrilled  to  its  core. 

And  had  he  given  all  this  trouble  to  this  perfect  creature 
merely  that  he  should  look  at  a  tree?  and  was  he  to  say  some 
ordinary  thing  about  an  ordinary  elm  to  tell  her  how  grateful  he 
was  ? 

"  It  is  like  a  dream  to  me,"  he  said,  honestly  enough,  "  since  I 
came  to  London.  You  seem  always  to  have  sunlight  and  plenty 
of  fine  trees  aiid  hot- house  flowers.  But  I  suppose  you  have 
winter,  like  the  rest  of  us  ?" 

"Or  we  should  very  soon  tire  of  all  this,  beautiful  as  it  is," 
said  she ;  and  she  looked  ratlier  wistfully  out  on  the  broad,  still 
gardens.  "  For  my  part,  I  should  very  soon  tire  of  it.  I  should 
think  there  was  more  excitement  in  the  wild  storms  and  the  dark 
nights  of  the  north ;  there  must  be  a  strange  fascination  in  the 
short  winter  davs  among  the  mountains,  and  the  lonof  winter 
nights  by  the  side  of  the  Atlantic." 

He  looked  at  her  and  smiled.  That  fierce  fascination  he  knew 
something  of:  how  had  she  guessed  at  it?  And  as  for  her  talk- 
ing as  if  she  herself  would  gladly  brave  these  storms — was  it  for 
a  foam-bell  to  brave  a  storm  ?  was  it  for  a  rose-leaf  to  meet  the 
driving  rains  of  Ben-an-Sloich  ? 

"  Shall  we  go  back  now  ?"  said  she ;  and  as  she  turned  to  lead 
the  way  he  could  not  fail  to  remark  how  shapely  her  neck  was, 
for  her  rich  golden-brown  hair  was  loosely  gathered  up  behind. 

But  just  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Ross  made  her  appearance. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  we  shall  have  a  chat  all  to  ourselves ;  and 
you  will  tell  me,  Sir  Keith,  what  you  have  seen  since  you  came 
to  London,  and  what  has  struck  you  most.  And  you  must  stay 
with   us,  Gertrude.      Perhaps   Sir    Keitli    will    be   so   kind    a.",  to 


28  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

freeze  your  blood  with  another  horrible  story  about  the  High- 
landers. I  am  only  a  poor  southerner,  and  had  to  get  up  my 
legends  from  books.  But  this  wicked  girl,  Sir  Keith,  delights  as 
much  in  stories  of  bloodshed  as  a  school-boy  does." 

*'  You  will  not  believe  her,"  said  Miss  White,  in  that  low-toned, 
gravely  sincere  voice  of  hers,  while  a  faint  shell-like  pink  suffused 
her  face.  "  It  Avas  only  that  we  were  talking  of  the  Highlands, 
because  we  understood  vou  were  cominir;  and  Mrs.  Ross  was  trv- 
iiigto  make  out" — and  here  a  spice  of  proud  mischief  came  into 
the  ordinarily  calm  eyes — "  she  was  trying  to  make  out  that  you 
must  be  a  very  terrible  and  dangerous  person,  who  would  prob- 
ably murder  us  all  if  we  were  not  civil  to  you." 

"  Well,  you  know,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  apologetically, 
"  you  acknowledge  yourself  that  you  Macleods  were  a  very  dread- 
ful lot  of  people  at  one  time.  What  a  shame  it  was  to  track  the 
poor  fellow  over  the  snow,  and  then  deliberately  to  put  brush- 
wood in  front  of  the  cave,  and  then  suffocate  whole  two  hundred 
persons  at  once !" 

"  Oh  yes,  no  doubt !"  said  he  ;  "  but  the  Macdonalds  were  asked 
first  to  give  up  the  men  that  had  bound  the  Macleods  hand  and 
foot  and  set  them  adrift  in  the  boat,  and  they  would  not  do  it. 
And  if  the  Macdonalds  had  got  the  Macleods  into  a  cave,  they 
would  have  suffocated  them  too.     The  Macdonalds  began  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  protested  Mrs.  Ross ;  "  I  can  remember  bet- 
ter than  that.  What  were  the  Macleods  about  on  the  island  at 
all  when  they  had  to  be  sent  off,  tied  liand  and  foot,  in  their 
boats?" 

"And  what  is  the  difference  between  tying  a  man  hand  and 
foot  and  putting  him  out  in  the  Atlantic,  and  suffocating  him  in 
a  cave?  It  was  only  by  an  accident  that  the  wind  drifted  them 
over  to  Skye." 

"  I  shall  beoin  to  fear  that  you  have  some  of  the  old  blood  in 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  with  a  smile,  "  if  you  try  to  excuse  one  of 
the  crudest  things  ever  heard  of." 

"  I  do  not  excuse  it  at  all,"  said  he,  simply,  "  It  was  very 
bad — very  cruel.  But  perhaps  the  Macleods  w-ere  not  so  much 
worse  than  others.  It  was  not  a  Macleod  at  all,  it  Avas  a  Gordon 
— and  she  a  womnn,  too — that  killed  the  chief  of  the  Mackin- 
toshes after  she  had  received  him  as  a  friend.  '  Put  your  head 
down  on  the  table,' said  she  to  the  chief,  '  in  token  of  your  sub- 


FIONAGIIAL.  29 

mission  to  tlic  Earl  of  Iluntly.'  And  no  sooner  liad  he  bowed 
his  neck  than  slie  whipped  out  a  knife  and  cut  his  liead  off. 
That  was  a  Gordon,  not  a  Macleod.  And  I  do  not  think  the 
Macleods  were  so  much  worse  than  their  neighbors,  after  all." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  say  that !"  exclaimed  his  persecutor. 
"  Who  was  ever  guilty  of  such  an  act  of  treachery  as  setting  lire 
to  the  barn  at  Dunvegan  ?  Macdonald  and  liis  men  get  driven 
on  to  Skye  by  the  bad  weather ;  they  beg  for  shelter  from  their 
old  enemy ;  Macleod  professes  to  bo  very  great  friends  with 
them  ;  and  Macdonald  is  to  sleep  in  the  castle,  while  his  men 
have  a  barn  prepared  for  them.  You  know  very  well.  Sir  Keith, 
that  if  Macdonald  had  remained  that  night  in  Dunvegan  Castio 

CD  O 

lie  would  have  been  murdered ;  and  if  the  Macleod  girl  had  not 
given  a  word  of  warning  to  her  sweetheart,  the  men  in  the  barn 
would  have  been  burned  to  death,  I  think  if  I  were  a  Mac- 
donald I  should  be  proud  of  that  scene — the  Macdonalds  march- 
ing dov/n  to  their  boats  with  their  pipes  pjlaying,  while  the  barn 
was  all  in  a  blaze  fired  by  their  treacherous  enemies.  Oh,  Sir 
Keith,  I  hope  there  are  no  Macleods  of  that  sort  alive  now." 

"  There  are  not,  Mrs.  Ross,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  They  were  all 
killed  by  the  Macdonalds,  I  suppose." 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  she,  "  that  it  was  a  Macleod  Avho  built  a 
stone  tower  on  a  lonely  island,  and  imprisoned  his  wife  there — " 

"  Miss  White,"  the  young  man  said,  modestly,  "  will  not  you 
help  me?  Am  I  to  be  made  responsible  for  all  the  evil  doings 
of  my  ancestors  ?" 

"It  is  really  not  fair,  Mrs.  Eoss,"  said  she;  and  the  sound  of 
this  voice  pleading  for  him  went  to  his  heart :  it  was  not  as  the 
voice  of  other  women. 

''I  only  meant  to  punish  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  "for  having 
traversed  the  indictment — I  don't  know  whether  that  is  the  prop- 
er phrase,  or  what  it  means,  but  it  sounds  well.  You  first  ac- 
knowledged that  the  Macleods  were  by  far  the  most  savage  of 
the  people  living  up  there :  and  then  you  tried  to  make  out  that 
the  poor  creatures  whom  they  harried  were  as  cruel  as  them- 
selves." 

"  What  is  cruel  now  was  not  cruel  then,"  he  said ;  "  it  was  a 
way  of  fighting :  it  was  what  is  called  an  ambush  now — enticing 
your  enemy,  and  then  taking  him  at  a  disadvantage.  And  if 
you  did  not  do  that  to  him,  he  would  do  it  to  you.     And  when 


30  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

a  man  is  mad  with  ano-cr  or  revenge,  what  docs  lie  care  for  any- 
thing?" 

"  I  thouglit  we  were  all  sheep  now,"  said  she. 

"Do  you  know  tlie  story  of  tlic  man  who  was  flogged  by  Mae- 
lean  of  Lochbuy — that  is  in  Mull,"  said  he,  not  heeding  her  re- 
mark.    "  You  do  not  know  that  old  story  ?" 

They  did  not ;  and  he  proceeded  to  tell  it  in  a  grave  and  sim- 
ple fashion  which  was  suliiciently  impressive.  For  he  was  talk- 
ing to  these  two  friends  now  in  the  most  unembarrassed  way  ; 
and  he  had,  besides,  the  chief  gift  of  a  born  narrator — an  utter 
forgctf Illness  of  himself.  His  eyes  rested  quite  naturally  on  their 
eyes  as  he  told  his  tale.  But  first  of  all,  he  spoke  of  the  exceed- 
ing loyalty  of  the  Highland  folk  to  the  head  of  their  clan.  Did 
they  know  that  other  story  of  how  Maclean  of  Duart  tried  to 
capture  the  young  heir  of  the  house  of  Lochbuy,  and  how  the  boy 
was  rescued  and  carried  away  by  his  nurse  ?  And  when,  arrived 
at  man's  estate,  he  returned  to  revenge  himself  on  those  who  had 
betrayed  him,  among  them  was  the  husband  of  the  nurse.  The 
yonng  chief  would  have  spared  the  life  of  this  man,  for  the  old 
woman's  sake.  "Zei  the  tail  go  with  the  hide,''''  said  she,  and  he 
was  slain  with  the  rest.  And  then  the  narrator  went  on  to  the 
story  of  the  flogging.  He  told  them  how  Maclean  of  Lochbuy 
was  out  after  the  deer  one  day  ;  and  his  wife,  with  her  child,  had 
come  out  to  see  the  shooting.  They  were  driving  the  deer;  and 
at  a  particular  pass  a  man  Avas  stationed  so  that,  should  the  deer 
come  that  way,  he  should  turn  them  back.  The  deer  came  to 
this  pass ;  the  man  failed  to  turn  them  ;  and  the  chief  was  mad 
with  rage.  He  gave  orders  that  the  man's  back  should  be  bared, 
and  that  he  should  be  flogged  before  all  the  people. 

"  Very  well,"  continued  Macleod.  "  It  was  done.  But  it  is 
not  safe  to  do  anything  like  that  to  a  Highlander;  at  least  it  was 
not  safe  to  do  anything  like  that  to  a  Highlander  in  those  days; 
for,  as  I  told  you,  Mrs.  Ross,  Ave  arc  all  like  slieep  now.  Then 
they  went  after  the  deer  again ;  but  at  one  moment  the  man  that 
had  been  flogged  seized  Maclean's  child  from  the  nurse,  and  ran 
with  it  across  the  mountain-side,  till  he  reached  a  place  overhang- 
ing the  sea.  And  he  held  out  the  child  over  the  sea;  and  it  was 
no  use  that  Maclean  begged  on  his  knees  for  foro-ivcness.  Even 
the  passion  of  loyalty  was  lost  now  in  the  fierceness  of  his  revenge. 
This  was  what  the  man  said — that  unless  Maclean  had  liis  back 


FIONAOIIAL.  31 

bared  there  and  tlicn  before  all  the  people,  and  flogged  as  he  had 
been  floafo-ed,  then  the  child  should  be  dashed  into  the  sea  below. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  that — no  prayers,  no  offers,  no 
appeals  from  the  mother,  were  of  any  use.  And  so  it  was  that 
Maclean  of  Lochbuy  was  flogged  there  before  his  own  people, 
and  his  enemy  above  looking  on.  And  then  ?  When  it  was 
over,  the  man  called  aloud,  '  Revenged !  revenged  1'  and  sprang 
into  the  air  with  the  child  along  with  him ;  and  neither  of  them 
was  ever  seen  again  after  they  had  sank  into  the  sea.  It  is  an 
old  story." 

An  old  story,  doubtless,  and  often  told ;  but  its  effect  on  tliis 
girl  sitting  beside  liiui  was  strange.  Her  clasped  hands  trembled ; 
her  eyes  were  glazed  and  fascinated  as  if  by  some  spell.  Mrs, 
Ross,  noticing  this  extreme  tension  of  feeling,  and  fearing  it, 
hastily  rose. 

"  Come,  Gertrude,"  she  said,  taking  the  girl  by  the  hand,  "  wo 
shall  be  frightened  to  death  by  these  stories.  Come  and  sing  us 
a  song — a  French  song,  all  about  tears,  and  fountains,  and  bits  of 
ribbon — or  we  shall  be  seeins:  the  ffhosts  of  murdered  Highland- 
crs  coming  in  here  in  the  daytime." 

Macleod,  not  knowing  what  he  had  done,  but  conscious  that 
something  had  occurred,  followed  them  into  the  drawing-room, 
and  retired  to  a  sofa,  while  Miss  White  sat  down  to  the  open 
piano.  He  hoped  he  had  not  offended  her.  He  would  not 
frighten  her  again  with  any  ghastly  stories  from  the  wild  north- 
ern seas. 

And  what  was  this  French  song  that  she  was  about  to  sing? 
The  pale,  slender  fingers  were  wandering  over  the  keys;  and 
there  was  a  sound — faint  and  clear  and  musical — as  of  the  rip- 
pling of  summer  seas.  And  sometimes  the  sounds  came  nearer ; 
and  now  he  fancied  he  recognized  some  old  familiar  strain ;  and 
he  thought  of  his  cousin  Janet  somehow,  and  of  summer  days 
down  by  the  bine  waters  of  tlic  Atlantic.  A  French  song? 
Surely  if  this  air,  that  seemed  to  come  nearer  and  nearer,  was 
blown  from  any  earthly  land,  it  had  come  from  the  valleys  of 
Lochiel  and  Ardgour,  and  from  the  still  shores  of  Arisaig  and 
Moidart  ?  Oh  yes ;  it  was  a  very  pretty  French  song  that  slie 
had  chosen  to  please  Mrs.  Ross  Avith. 

"  A  wee  bird  cam'  to  our  ha'  door  " — 


32  MACLEOD    OF    DARK. 

this  was  wliat  slie  sang ;  and  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  had 

not  much  of  a  voice,  it  was  exquisitely  trained,  and  she  sang  with 

a  tcndeniess  and  expression  such  as  lie,  at  least,  had  never  heard 

before — 

"  He  warbled  sweet  and  clearly  ; 

An'  aye  the  o'crcome  o'  liis  sang 

Was  '  Wae's  nie  for  Prince  Charlie !' 
Oh,  when  I  heard  the  bonnie,  bonnie  bird, 

The  tears  cam'  drappin'  rarely ; 
I  took  my  bonnet  off  my  head, 

For  well  I  lo'cd  Prince  Charlie." 

It  could  not  have  entered  into  his  imagination  to  believe  tliat 
such  pathos  could  exist  apart  from  the  actual  sorrow  of  the 
■world.  The  instrument  before  her  seemed  to  speak ;  and  the 
low,  joint  cry  was  one  of  infinite  grief,  and  longing,  and  love. 

"  Quoth  I, '  My  bird,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  bird, 

Is  that  a  sang  ye  borrow  ? 
Are  these  some  words  ye've  learnt  by  heart, 

Or  a  lilt  o'  do<jl  an'  sorrow  ?' 
'  Oh,  no,  no,  no,'  the  wee  bird  sang ; 

'  Pve  flown  sin'  mornin'  early ; 
But  sic  a  day  o'  wind  an'  rain — 

Oh,  wae's  me  for  Prince  Charlie  !' " 

Mrs.  Ross  glanced  archly  at  him  when  slie  discovered  what  sort 
of  French  song  it  was  that  Miss  White  had  chosen ;  but  he  paid 
no  heed.  His  only  thought  was,  '•''  If  only  the  mother  and  Janet 
could  hear  this  strange  singing  f^ 

When  she  had  ended,  Mrs.  Ross  came  over  to  him  and  said, 
"  That  is  a  great  compliment  to  you." 

And  he  answered,  simply,  "  I  have  never  heard  any  singing 
like  that." 

Then  young  Mr.  Ogilvic — whose  existence,  by-the-way,  he  had 
entirely  and  most  ungratefully  forgotten — came  up  to  the  piano, 
and  began  to  talk  in  a  very  pleasant  and  amusing  fashion  to  Miss 
AVhite.  She  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  book  before  her, 
and  Macleod  grew  angry  with  this  idle  interference.  Why  should 
this  lily-fingered  jackanapes,  whom  a  man  could  wind  round  a  reel 
and  throw  out  of  window,  disturb  the  rapt  devotion  of  this  beau- 
tiful Saint  Cecilia  ? 

She  struck  a  firmer  chord;  the  by-standers  withdrcv/  a  bit; 
and  of  a  sudden  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  spirit  of  all  the 


nONAOIIAL,  33 

clans  was  ringino;  in  tlic  proud  fervor  of  this  fragile  girl's  voice. 
Whence  had  she  got  this  tierce  Jacobite  passion  that  thrilled  liini 
to  the  very  finger-tips  ? 

"I'll  to  Lochiel,  aiul  Appln,  and  kneel  to  tliem, 
Down  by  Lord  Murray  and  Roy  of  Kildarlie : 
Bravo  Mackintosh,  lie  shall  fly  to  the  field  with  them ; 
These  are  the  lads  I  can  trust  wi'  my  Charlie !" 

Could  any  man  fail  to  answer?  Could  any  man  die  otherwise 
than  gladly  if  he  died  with  such  an  appeal  ringing  in  his  cars? 
Maclcod  did  not  know  there  was  scarcely  any  more  volume  in 
this  girl's  voice  now  than  when  she  was  singing  the  plaintive  wail 
tliat  preceded  it:  it  seemed  to  hira  tliat  there  was  the  strength 
of  the  tread  of  armies  in  it,  and  a  challenge  that  could  rouse  a 
nation. 

"Down  through  the  Lowlands,  down  wi'  the  Whigamore, 
Loyal  true  Highlanders,  down  wi'  them  rarely ! 
Ronald  and  Donald,  drive  on  wi'  the  broad  claymore 

Over  the  necks  o'  the  foes  o'  Prince  Charlie ! 
Follow  thee  !  follow  thee !  wha  wadna  follow  thee, 
King  o'  the  Highland  hearts,  bonnie  Prince  Charlie !" 

She  shut  the  book,  with  a  light  laugh,  and  left  the  piano.  She 
came  over  to  where  Macleod  sat.  When  he  saw  that  she  meant 
to  speak  to  him,  he  rose  and  stood  before  Ler. 

"I  must  ask  your  pardon,"  said  she,  smiling,  "for  singing  two 
Scotch  songs,  for  I  know  the  pronunciation  is  very  difficult." 

lie  answered  with  no  idle  compliment. 

"  If  Tearlach  ban  og,  as  they  used  to  call  him,  were  alive  no-\v," 
said  he — and  indeed  there  was  never  any  Stuart  of  them  all,  not 
even  the  Fair  Young  Charles  himself,  who  looked  more  handsome 
than  this  same  Macleod  of  Dare  who  now  stood  before  her — 
"  you  would  get  him  more  men  to  follow  liim  than  any  flag  or 
standard  he  ever  raised." 

She  cast  her  eyes  down. 

Mrs.  Ross's  guests  began  to  leave. 

"  Gertrude,"  said  she,  "  will  you  drive  with  me  for  half  an  hour 
— the  carriage  is  at  the  door?  And  I  know  the  gentlemen  want 
to  have  a  cigar  in  the  shade  of  Kensington  Gardens :  they  might 
come  back  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  us." 

But  Miss  White  had  some  engagement;  she  and  her  father 

2* 


34  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

left  togetlicr ;  and  tlic  young  men  followed  them  almost  directly, 
Mrs.  Ross  saying  that  she  would  be  most  pleased  to  see  Sir  Keith 
Maclcod  any  Tuesday  or  Thursday  afternoon  he  happened  to  be 
passing,  as  she  was  always  at  home  on  these  days. 

"  I  don't  think  we  can  do  better  than  take  her  advice  about 
the  cigar,"  said  young  Ogllvie,  as  they  crossed  to  Kensington  Gar- 
dens.    "What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"  Of  Mrs.  Ross  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  I  think  she  is  a  very  pleasant  woman." 

"Yes,  but,"  said  Mr.  Ogiivie,  "how  did  she  strike  you?  Do 
you  think  she  is  as  fascinating  as  some  men  think  licr?" 

"I  don't  know  wijat  men  think  about  her,"  said  Macleod.  "It 
never  occurred  to  me  to  ask  whether  a  married  woman  was  fas- 
cinating or  not.  I  thought  she  was  a  friendly  woman  —  talka- 
tive, amusing,  clever  enough," 

They  lit  their  cigars  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the  great  elms : 
who  does  not  know  how  beautiful  Kensington  Gardens  are  in 
June  ?  And  yet  Macleod  did  not  seem  disposed  to  bo  garrulous 
about  these  new  experiences  of  his;  he  was  absorbed,  and  mostly 
silent. 

"  That  is  an  extraordinary  fancy  she  has  taken  for  Gertrude 
White,"  Mr.  Ogiivie  remarked. 

"Why  extraordinary?"  the  other  asked,  witli  sudden  interest. 

"  Oh,  well,  it  is  unusual,  you  know.  But  slic  is  a  nice  girl 
enough,  and  Mrs.  Ross  is  fond  of  odd  folks.  You  didn't  speak 
to  old  White?  —  his  head  is  a  sort  of  British  Museum  of  an- 
tiquities; but  he  is  of  some  use  to  these  people — he  is  such  a 
swell  about  old  armor,  and  cliina,  and  such  things.  They  say  he 
wants  to  be  sent  out  to  dig  for  Dido's  funeral  pyre  at  Carthage, 
and  that  he  is  onlv  waiting^  to  c;et  the  trinkets  made  at  Birmino-- 
ham." 

They  walked  on  a  bit  in  silence. 

"  I  think  you  made  a  good  impression  on  Mrs.  Ross,"  said  Ogii- 
vie, coolly.  "  You'll  find  her  an  uncommonly  useful  woman,  if 
she  takes  a  fancy  to  you  ;  for  she  knows  everybody  and  goes 
everywhere,  though  her  own  house  is  too  small  to  entertain  prop- 
erly. By-the-way,  Macleod,  I  don't  think  you  could  have  hit  on 
a  worse  fellow  than  I  to  take  you  about,  for  I  am  so  little  in  Lon- 
don that  I  have  become  a  rank  outsider.     But  I'll  tell  you  what 


■WOmJEII-LAND.  ^5 

I'll  do  for  you  if  you  will  go  with  mc  to-niglit  to  Lord  Bcau- 
rcgiird's,  Avlao  is  an  old  frieud  of  mine.  I  will  ask  hini  to  intro- 
duce you  to  some  people — and  his  Avife  gives  very  good  dances — 
and  if  any  royal  or  imperial  swell  comes  to  town,  you'll  be  sure  to 
run  against  him  there.  I  forget  who  it  is  they  arc  receiving  there 
to-night ;  but  anyhow  you'll  meet  two  or  three  of  the  fat  duch- 
esses whom  Dizzy  adores ;  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  Irish 
girl  were  there — the  new  beauty :  Lady  Beauregard  is  very  clever 
at  picking  people  up." 

"  Will  Miss  White  be  there  ?"  Macleod  asked,  apparently  deep- 
ly engaged  in  probing  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

His  companion  looked  up  in  surprise.  Then  a  new  fancy 
seemed  to  occur  to  him,  and  he  smiled  very  slightly. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  I  don't  think  she  will.  In  fact, 
I  am  almost  sure  she  will  be  at  the  Piccadilly  Theatre.  If  you 
like,  we  will  give  up  Lady  Beauregard,  and  after  dinner  go  to  the 
Piccadilly  Theatre  instead.     IIow  will  that  do  ?" 

"  I  think  that  will  do  very  w^ell,"  said  Macleod. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WONDER-LAND. 

A  COOL  evening  in  June,  the  club  windovfs  open,  a  clear  twi- 
Ijo-ht  shinino:  over  Pall  Mall,  and  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  at  a  small, 
clean,  bright  table — these  are  not  the  conditions  in  which  a  young 
man  should  show  impatience.  And  yet  the  cunning  dishes  which 
Mr.  Ogilvie,  who  had  a  certain  pride  in  his  club,  though  it  was 
only  one  of  the  junior  institutions,  had  placed  before  his  friend, 
met  with  but  scant  curiosity  :  Macleod  would  rather  have  handed 
questions  of  cookery  over  to  his  cousin  Janet.  Nor  did  he  pay 
much  heed  to  his  companion's  sago  advice  as  to  the  sort  of  club 
he  should  have  himself  proposed  at,  with  a  view  to  getting  elect- 
ed in  a  dozen  or  fifteen  years.  A  young  man  is  apt  to  let  his 
life  at  forty  shift  for  itself. 

"You  seem  very  anxious  to  see  Miss  White  again,"  said  Mr. 
Ogilvie,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  I  wish  to  make  all  the  friends  I  can  while  I  am  in  London," 


36  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

said  Maclcod.  "  What  shall  I  do  in  this  howlinfr  wilderness 
when  yon  go  back  to  Aldcrshot?" 

"  I  don't  think  Miss  Gevtriide  AVhite  will  be  of  much  use  to 
you.  Colonel  Ross  may  be.  Or  Lord  Beauregard.  But  you 
cannot  expect  young  ladies  to  take  you  about." 

"  No  ?"  said  Macleod,  gravely ;  "  that  is  a  great  pity." 

Mr.  Ogilvie,  who,  with  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  of 
wines,  and  cookery,  and  v/omen,  and  what  not,  had  sometimes  an 
uneasy  consciousness  that  his  companion  was  covertly  laughing 
at  him,  here  proposed  that  they  should  have  a  cigar  before  Avalk- 
ing  up  to  the  Piccadilly  Theatre ;  but  as  it  was  now  ten  minutes 
to  eight,  Macleod  resolutely  refused.  lie  begged  to  be  consider- 
ed a  country  person,  anxious  to  see  the  piece  from  the  beginning. 
And  so  they  put  on  their  light  top-coats  over  their  evening  dresd 
and  walked  up  to  the  theatre. 

A  distant  sound  of  music,  an  odor  of  escaped  gas,  a  perilous 
descent  of  a  corkscrew  staircase,  a  drawing  aside  of  heavy  cur- 
tains, and  then  a  blaze  of  yellow  light  shining  within  this  circu- 
lar building,  on  its  red  satin  and  gilt  plaster,  and  on  the  spacious 
picture  of  a  blue  Italian  lake,  with  peacocks  on  the  wide  stone 
terraces.  The  noise  at  first  was  bewildering.  The  leader  of  the 
orcliestra  was  sawing  away  at  his  violin  as  savagely  as  if  he  were 
calling  on  his  company  to  rush  up  and  seize  a  battery  of  guns. 
What  was  the  melody  that  was  being  banged  about  by  the  trom- 
bones, and  blared  aloud  by  the  shrill  cornets,  and  sawed  across 
by  the  infuriated  violins?  "When  the  heart  of  a  man  is  op- 
pressed with  care."  The  cure  was  never  insisted  on  with  such 
an  angry  vehemence. 

Recovering  from  the  first  shock  of  this  fierce  noise,  Macleod 
began  to  look  around  this  strange  place,  with  its  magical  colors 
and  its  profusion  of  gilding;  but  nowhere  in  the  half -empty 
stalls  or  behind  the  lace  curtains  of  the  boxes  could  he  make  out 
the  visitor  of  whom  he  was  in  search.  Perhaps  she  was  not 
coming,  then  ?  Had  he  sacrificed  the  evening  all  for  nothing  ? 
As  regarded  the  theatre  or  the  piece  to  be  played,  he  had  not  the 
slightest  interest  in  either.  The  building  was  very  pretty,  no 
doubt;  but  it  was  only,  in  effect,  a  superior  sort  of  booth;  and 
as  for  the  trivial  amusement  of  watching  a  number  of  people 
strut  across  a  stage  and  declaim — or  perhaps  make  fools  of  them- 
selves to  raise  a  laugh  —  that  was  not  at  all  to  his  liking.     It 


WONDER-LAND.  37 

would  Lave  been  different  Lad  Le  been  able  to  talk  to  tlic  ghl 
•w'bo  Lad  sliown  siicli  a  strange  interest  in  tb.e  gloomy  stories  of 
the  Northern  seas ;  perhaps,  though  he  would  scarcely  have  ad- 
mitted this  to  himself,  it  might  have  been  different  if  only  he 
had  been  allowed  to  see  her  at  some  distance.  But  her  being 
absent  altoirether?  The  more  the  seats  in  the  stalls  Avere  filled — 
reducing  the  chances  of  her  coming — the  more  empty  the  thea- 
tre seemed  to  become. 

"At  least  we  can  go  along  to  that  Louse  vou  mentioned,"  said 
he  to  his  companion. 

"Oh,  don't  be  disappointed  yet,"  said  Ogilvie;  "I  know  she 
will  be  here." 

"With  Mrs.  Ross?" 

"  Mrs.  Ross  comes  very  often  to  this  theatre.  It  is  the  correct 
thing  to  do.  It  is  high  art.  All  the  people  arc  raving  about 
the  chief  actress ;  artists  painting  her  portrait ;  poets  writing 
sonnets  about  her  different  characters — no  end  of  a  fuss.  And 
Mrs.  Ross  is  very  proud  that  so  distinguished  a  person  is  Ler  par- 
ticular friend." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  actress  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  makes  her  the  big  feature  of  lier  parties  at  pres- 
ent ;  and  society  is  rather  inclined  to  make  a  pet  of  her,  too 
— patronizing  high  art,  don't  you  know.  It's  wonderful  what 
you  can  do  in  that  way.  If  a  duke  wants  a  clown  to  make  fel- 
lows laugh  after  a  Derby  dinner,  he  gets  him  to  his  house  and 
makes  him  dance ;  and  if  the  papers  find  it  out,  it  is  only  raising 
the  moral  status  of  the  pantomime.  Of  course  it  is  different 
with  Mrs.  Ross's  friend:  she  is  all  right  socially." 

The  garrulous  boy  was  stopped  by  the  sudden  cessation  of  the 
music;  and  then  the  Italian  lake  and  the  peacocks  disappeared  into 
unknown  regions  above ;  and  behold !  in  their  place  a  spacious 
hall  was  revealed — not  the  bare  and  simple  hall  at  Castle  Dare 
with  which  Macleod  was  familiar,  but  a  grand  apartment,  filled 
with  old  armor,  and  pictures,  and  cabinets,  and  showing  glimpses 
of  a  balcony  and  fair  gardens  beyond.  There  were  tv.-o  figures 
in  this  hall,  and  they  spoke — in  the  high  and  curious  falsetto  of 
the  stage.  Macleod  paid  no  more  heed  to  them  than  if  they 
Lad  been  marionettes.  For  one  thing,  he  could  not  follow  their 
speech  very  well ;  but,  in  any  case,  what  interest  could  Le  Lave 
in  listening  to  tLis  old  lawyer  explaining  to  tLe  stout  lady  tLat 


38  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

tlae  family  affairs  were  grievously  involved  ?  He  was  still  intent- 
ly Avatching  the  new-comers  who  straggled  in,  singly  or  in  pairs, 
to  the  stalls.  Wlieu  a  slight  motion  of  the  white  curtains 
showed  that  some  one  was  entering  one  of  the  boxes,  the  corner 
of  the  box  was  regarded  with  as  earnest  a  gaze  as  ever  followed 
the  movements  of  a  herd  of  red  deer  in  the  misty  chasms  of  Bcn- 
an-Sloich.  What  concern  had  he  in  the  troubles  of  this  over- 
dressed and  stout  lady,  who  was  bewailing  her  misfortunes  and 
wringing  her  bejewelled  hands  ? 

Suddenly  his  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  altogether.  It  was  a 
light,  glad  laugh — the  sound  of  a  voice  he  knew — that  seemed  to 
have  pierced  him  as  with  a  rifle-ball ;  and  at  the  same  moment 
from  the  green  shimmer  of  foliage  in  the  balcony  there  stepped 
into  the  glare  of  the  hall  a  young  girl  with  life,  and  laughter, 
and  a  merry  carelessness  in  her  face  and  eyes.  She  threw  her 
arm  around  her  mother's  neck  and  kissed  her.  She  bowed  to 
the  legal  person.  She  flung  her  garden  hat  on  to  a  couch,  and 
got  up  on  a  chair  to  get  fresh  seed  put  in  for  her  canary.  It 
was  all  done  so  simply,  and  naturally,  and  gracefully  that  in  an 
instant  a  fire  of  life  and  reality  sprang  into  the  whole  of  this 
sham  thing.  The  woman  was  no  longer  a  marionette,  but  the 
anguish  -  stricken  mother  of  this  gay  and  heedless  girl.  And 
when  the  daughter  jumped  down  from  the  chair  again — her  ca- 
nary on  her  finger — and  when  she  came  forward  to  pet,  and  ca- 
ress, and  remonstrate  with  her  mother,  and  when  the  glare  of  the 
lights  flashed  on  the  merry  eyes,  and  on  the  white  teeth  and 
laughing  lips,  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt  possible.  Macleod's 
face  was  quite  pale.  lie  tt>ok  the  programme  from  Ogilvie's 
hand,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  stared  mechanically  at  the  name 
of  Miss  Gertrude  White,  printed  on  the  pink-tinted  paper.  Uc 
gave  it  him  back  Avithout  a  word.  Ogilvic  only  smiled  ;  he  was 
proud  of  the  surprise  he  had  planned. 

And  now  the  fancies  and  recollections  that  came  rushing  into 
Macleod's  head  were  of  a  sufljciently  chaotic  and  bewildering 
character.  lie  tried  to  separate  that  grave,  and  gentle,  and  sen- 
sitive girl  he  had  met  at  Prince's  Gate  from  this  gay  madcap,  and 
he  could  not  at  all  succeed.  His  heart  laughed  with  the  laugh- 
ter of  this  wild  creature ;  he  enjoyed  the  discomfiture  and  despair 
of  the  old  lawyer  as  she  stood  before  him  twirling  her  garden 
hat  by  a  solitary  ribbon  :  and  when  the  small,  white  fingers  raised 


WONDEU-LAND.  39 

the  canary  to  be  kissed  by  the  pouting  lips,  the  action  was  more 
Cfraceful  than  anvthino-  he  liad  ever  seen  in  the  world.  But 
where  was  the  silent  and  serious  girl  wdio  had  listened  with  such 
rapt  attention  to  his  tales  of  passion  and  revenge,  who  seemed  to 
have  some  mysterious  longing  for  those  gloomy  shores  he  came 
from,  who  had  sung  with  such  exquisite  pathos  "A  wee  bird 
cam'  to  our  ha'  door?''  Iler  cheek  had  turned  white  when  she 
heard  of  the  fate  of  the  son  of  Maclean :  surely  that  sensitive  and 
vivid  imagination  could  not  belong  to  this  audacious  girl,  with 
lier  laughing,  and  teasings,  and  demure  coquetry  ? 

Society  had  not  been  talking  about  the  art  of  Mrs.  Ross's  pro- 
terjee  for  nothing ;  and  that  art  soon  made  sliort  work  of  Keith 
Macleod's  doubts.  The  fair  stranger  he  had  met  at  Prince's  Gate 
vanished  into  mist.  Here  was  the  real  woman ;  and  all  the 
trumpery  business  of  the  theatre,  that  he  would  otherwise  have 
regarded  with  indifference  or  contempt,  became  a  real  and  living 
thing,  insomuch  that  he  followed  the  fortunes  of  this  spoiled 
child  with  a  breathless  interest  and  a  beating  heart.  The  spell 
was  on  him.  Oh,  why  should  she  be  so  proud  to  this  poor  lover, 
who  stood  so  meekly  before  her?  "Coquette,  coquette"  (Mac- 
leod  could  have  cried  to  her),  "the  days  are  not  always  full  of 
sunshine  ;  life  is  not  all  youth,  and  beauty,  and  high  spirits ;  you 
may  come  to  repent  of  your  pride  and  your  cruelty."'  He  had 
no  jealousy  against  the  poor  youth  who  took  his  leave ;  he  pitied 
him,  but  it  was  for  her  sake ;  he  seemed  to  know  that  evil  days 
were  coming,  when  she  would  long  for  the  solace  of  an  honest 
man's  love.  And  when  the  trouble  came — as  it  speedily  did — 
and  when  she  stood  bravely  up  at  first  to  meet  her  fate,  and  when 
she  broke  down  for  a  time,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  liands, 
and  cried  with  bitter  sobs,  the  tears  were  running  down  his  face. 
Could  the  merciful  heavens  see  such  grief,  and  let  the  wicked 
triumph?  And  why  was  there  no  man  to  succor  her?  Surely 
some  times  arise  in  which  the  old  law  is  the  good  law,  and  a 
man  will  trust  to  his  own  right  arm  to  put  things  straight  in  the 
Avorld?  To  look  at  her ! — could  any  man  refuse  ?  And  now  she 
rises  and  goes  away,  and  all  the  glad  summer-time  and  the  sun- 
shine have  gone,  and  the  cold  wind  shivers  through  the  trees,  and 
it  breathes  only  of  farewell.  Farewell,  O  miserable  one  !  the  way 
is  dark  before  you,  and  you  are  alone.  Alone,  and  no  man  near 
to  help. 


40  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Macleod  was  awakened  from  liis  trance.  The  act  drop  was  let 
down  ;  tlicre  was  a  stir  tliroiigliout  the  theatre ;  young  Ogilvic 
turned  to  him : 

"  Don't  you  see  who  lias  come  into  that  corner  box  up  there  ?" 

If  he  had  been  told  that  Miss  Wliite,  just  come  up  from 
Prince's  Gate,  in  her  ])lain  black  dress  and  blue  beads,  had  just 
arrived  and  was  seated  there,  he  would  scarcely  have  been  sur- 
prised. As  it  was,  he  looked  up  and  saw  Colonel  Ross  taking 
his  scat,  while  the  figure  of  a  lady  was  partially  visible  behind 
the  lace  curtain. 

"  I  wonder  how  often  Mrs.  Ross  has  seen  this  piece  ?"  Ogilvie 
said.  "And  I  think  Colonel  Ross  is  as  profound  a  believer  in 
Miss  White  as  his  wife  is.     AVill  you  go  up  and  see  them  now?" 

"  No,"  Macleod  said,  absently.   ' 

"I  shall  tell  them,"  said  the  facetious  boy,  as  he  rose  and  got 
hold  of  his  crush  hat,  "that  you  arc  meditating  a  leap  on  to  the 
stage  to  rescue  the  distressed  damsel." 

And  then  his  conscience  smote  him. 

"  Mind  you,"  said  he,  "  I  think  it  is  awfully  good  myself.  I 
can't  pump  up  any  enthusiasm  for  most  things  that  people  rave 
about,  but  I  do  think  this  girl  is  uncommonly  clever.  And  then 
she  always  dresses  like  a  lady." 

With  this  high  commendation.  Lieutenant  Ogilvic  left,  and 
made  his  way  up-stairs  to  Mrs.  Ross's  box.  Apparently  he  was 
well  received  there,  for  he  did  not  make  his  appearance  again  at 
the  beginning  of  the  next  act,  nor,  indeed,  until  it  was  nearly 
over. 

The  dream-world  opens  again ;  and  now  it  is  a  beautiful  gar- 
den, close  by  the  ruins  of  an  old  abbey,  and  fine  ladies  are  walk- 
ing about  there.  But  what  does  he  care  for  these  marionettes 
uttering  meaningless  phrases?  They  have  no  more  interest  for 
him  than  the  sham  ivy  on  the  sham  ruins,  so  long  as  that  one 
bright,  speaking,  pathetic  face  is  absent :  and  the  story  they  are 
carrying  forward  is  for  him  no  story  at  all,  for  he  takes  no  heed 
of  its  details  in  his  anxious  watching  for  her  appearance.  The 
sides  of  this  gai'den  are  mysteriously  divided :  by  which  avenue 
shall  she  approach  ?  Suddenly  he  hears  the  low  voice  —  she 
comes  nearer.  Now  let  the  world  laugh  again  !  But,  alas  !  when 
she  does  appear,  it  is  in  the  company  of  her  lover,  and  it  is  only 
to  bid  him  good-bye.     Why  does  the  coward  hind  take  her  at  her 


V/ONDER-LAND.  41 

word  ?  A  stick,  n  stone,  a  wave  of  tlie  cold  sea,  would  be  iiioro 
responsive  to  that  deep  and  tremulous  voice,  wliicli  has  now  tio 
longer  any  of  the  art§  of  a  wilful  coquetry  about  it,  but  is  alto- 
gether as  self -revealing  as  the  generous  abandonment  of  her  eyes. 
The  poor  cipher !  he  is  not  the  man  to  woo  and  win  and  carry 
off  this  noble  woman,  the  unutterable  soul  surrender  of  whose 
look  has  the  courage  of  despair  in  it.  lie  bids  her  farewell. 
Tlie  tailor's  dummy  retires.  And  she  ?  in  her  agony,  is  there 
no  one  to  comfort  her?  They  have  demanded  this  sacrifice  in 
the  name  of  duty,  and  she  has  consented:  ought  not  that  to  bo 
enough  to  comfort  her  ?  Then  other  people  appear,  from  other 
parts  of  the  garden,  and  there  is  a  Babel  of  tongues,  lie  hears 
nothing;  but  he  follows  that  sad  face,  until  he  could  imagine 
that  he  listens  to  the  throbbing  of  her  aching  heart 

And  then,  as  the  phantasms  of  the  stage  come  and  go,  and 
fortune  plays  many  pranks  with  these  puppets,  the  piece  draws 
near  to  an  end.  And  now,  as  it  appears,  everything  is  reversed, 
and  it  is  the  poor  lover  who  is  in  grievous  trouble,  while  she  is 
restored  to  the  proud  position  of  her  coquetries  and  wilful  graces 
ao-ain,  with  all  her  friends  smiling  around  her,  and  life  Iving  fair 
before  her.  She  meets  him  by  accident.  Suffering  gives  him  a 
certain  sort  of  dignity ;  but  how  is  one  to  retain  patience  with 
the  blindness  of  this  insufferable  ass?  Don't  you  see,  man — 
don't  you  see  that  she  is  waiting  to  throw  lierself  into  your 
arms?  and  you,  you  poor  ninny,  are  giving  yourself  airs,  and 
doing  the  grand  heroic!  And  then  the  shy  coquetry  comes  in 
again.  The  pathetic  eyes  are  full  of  a  grave  compassion,  if  he 
must  really  never  see  her  more.  The  cat  plays  with  the  poor 
mouse,  and  pretends  that  really  the  tender  thing  is  gone  away  at 
last.  lie  will  take  this  half  of  a  broken  sixpence  back:  it  was 
given  in  happier  times.  If  ever  he  should  marry,  lie  will  know 
that  one  far  away  prays  for  his  happiness.  And  if — if  these  un- 
womanly tears —  And  suddenly  the  crass  idiot  discovers  that 
she  is  laughing  at  him,  and  that  she  has  secured  him  and  bound 
him  as  completely  as  a  fly  fifty  times  v.-ound  round  by  a  spider. 
The  crash  of  applause  that  accompanied  the  lov.-ei'ing  of  the  cur- 
tain stunned  jNIacleod,  who  had  not  quite  come  back  from  dream- 
land. And  then,  amidst  a  confused  roar,  the  curtain  was  drawn 
a  bit  back,  and  she  was  led  —  timidly  smiling,  so  that  her  eyes 
seemed  to  take  in  all  the  theatre  at  once — across  tlic  stage  by  that 


42  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

same  poor  fool  of  a  lover;  and  slie  liad  two  or  three  bouquets 
thrown  her,  notably  one  from  Mrs.  Ross's  box.  Then  she  disap- 
peared, and  the  lights  were  lowered,  and  there  was  a  dull  shuffling 
of  people  getting  their  cloaks  and  hats  and  going  away. 

"  Mrs.  lioss  wants  to  see  you  for  a  minute,"  Ogilvie  said. 

"  Yes,"  Macleod  answered,  absently. 

"And  we  have  time  yet,  if  you  like,  to  get  into  a  hansom  and 
drive  along  to  Lady  Beauregard's." 


CnAPTER  V. 

IN     PARK     LANE. 

They  found  Mrs.  Ross  and  her  Imsband  waiting  in  the  corridor 
above. 

"  Well,  how  did  you  like  it  ?"  she  said. 

lie  could  not  answer  off-hand.  He  was  afraid  he  might  say 
too  much. 

"It  is  like  her  singing,"  he  stammered,  at  length.  "I  am  not 
used  to  these  things.  I  have  never  seen  anytliing  like  that  be- 
fore." 

"  We  shall  soon  have  her  in  a  better  piece,"  Mrs.  Ross  said. 
"  It  is  being  written  for  her.  That  is  very  pretty,  but  slight. 
She  is  capable  of  greater  things." 

"She  is  capable  of  anything,"  said  Macleod,  simply,  "if  she 
can  make  you  believe  that  such  nonsense  is  real.  I  looked  at  the 
otliers.  What  did  they  say  or  do  better  than  mere  pictures  in  a 
book  ?     But  she — it  is  like  magic." 

"And  did  Mr.  Ogilvic  give  you  my  message?"  said  Mrs.  Ross. 
"  My  husband  and  I  are  going  down  to  see  a  yacht  race  on  the 
Thames  to-morrow — we  did  not  think  of  it  till  this  evening  any 
more  than  we  expected  to  find  yon  here.  We  came  along  to 
try  to  get  Miss  White  to  go  with  us.  Will  you  join  our  little 
party?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly  —  thank  you  very  much,"  Macleod  said, 
eagerly. 

"Then  you'd  better  meet  us  at  Charing  Cross,  at  ten  sharp," 
Colonel  Ross  said ;  "  so  don't  let  Ogilvie  keep  you  up  too  late 
with  brandy-and-soda.     A  special  will  take  us  down." 


IN    TAr.K    LANE.  43 

" Brail dy-and-soda!"  Mr.  Ogilvie  exclaimed.  "I  am  going  to 
take  him  along  for  a  few  minutes  to  Lady  Beauregard's — surely 
that  is  proper  enough ;  and  I  have  to  get  down  by  the  '  cold- 
meat  '  train  to  Aldershot,  so  there  won't  be  much  brandy-and-soda 
for  me.     Shall  we  go  now,  Mrs.  Ross?" 

"I  am  waiting  for  an  answer,"  Mrs.  Ross  said,  looking  along 
the  corridor. 

Was  it  possible,  then,  that  she  herself  should  bring  the  answer 
to  this  message  that  had  been  sent  her  —  stepping  out  of  the 
dream-world  in  which  she  had  disappeared  with  her  lover?  And 
how  Avould  she  look  as  she  came  along  this  narrow  passage? 
Like  the  arch  coquette  of  this  land  of  gas-light  and  glowing  col- 
ors ?  or  like  the  pale,  serious,  proud  girl  who  was  fond  of  sketch- 
ing the  elm  at  Prince's  Gate?  A  strange  nervousness  possessed 
liim  as  he  thought  she  might  suddenly  appear.  He  did  not  lis- 
ten to  the  talk  between  Colonel  Ross  and  Mr.  Ogilvie.  He  did 
not  notice  that  this  small  party  was  obviously  regarded  as  being 
in  the  way  by  the  attendants  who  were  putting  out  the  lights 
and  shutting  the  doors  of  the  boxes.     Then  a  man  came  alona. 

"Miss  White's  compliments,  ma'am,  and  she  will  be  very 
pleased  to  meet  }'ou  at  Charing  Cross  at  ten  to-morrow." 

"And  Miss  White  is  a  very  brave  young  lady  to  attempt  any- 
thing of  the  kind,"  observed  Mr.  Ogilvie,  confidentially,  as  they 
all  went  down  the  stairs;  "for  if  the  yachts  should  get  becalmed 
oil  the  Nore,  or  off  the  Mouse,  I  wonder  how  Miss  White  will  get 
back  to  London  in  time?" 

"  Oh,  we  shall  take  care  of  that,"  said  Colonel  Ross.  "  Unless 
there  is  a  good  steady  breeze  we  sha'n't  go  at  all ;  we  shall  spend 
a  happy  day  at  Roshcrville,  or  have  a  look  at  the  pictures  at 
Greenwich.  We  sha'n't  get  Miss  White  into  trouble.  Good-bye, 
Ogilvie.  Good-bye,  Sir  Keith.  Remember  ten  o'clock,  Charing 
Cross." 

They  stepped  into  their  carriage  and  drove  off. 

"Now,"  said  Macleod's  companion,  "are  you  tired?" 

"Tired?     I  have  done  nothing  all  day." 

"  Shall  v.'c  get  into  a  hansom  and  drive  along  to  Lady  Beaure- 
gard's?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like.  T  suppose  they  won't  throw  you  over 
again  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  as  he  once  more  adventured  his  per- 


44  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

son  in  a  cab.  "And  I  can  tell  you  it  is  much  better  —  if  you 
look  at  the  tliinji;  ])liilosopbically,  as  poor  wretches  like  you  and 
inc  must — to  drive  to  a  crush  in  a  hansom  than  in  your  own  car- 
riage. You  don't  woiry  about  your  horses  being  kept  out  in  the 
rain ;  you  can  come  away  at  any  moment ;  there  is  no  fussing 
with  servants,  and  rows  because  your  man  has  got  out  of  the 
rank —     Hold  up  !" 

Whether  it  was  the  yell  or  not,  the  horse  recovered  from  the 
sli>'-ht  stumble  :  and  no  harm  befell  the  two  daring  travellers. 

"  These  vehicles  give  one  some  excitement,"  Macleod  said — or 
rather  roared,  for  Piccadilly  was  full  of  carriages.  "A  squall  in 
Loch  Scridain  is  nothing  to  them." 

"  You'll  get  used  to  them  in  time,"  was  the  complacent  answer. 

They  dismissed  the  hansom  at  the  corner  of  Ficcadilly,  and 
walked  up  Park  Lane,  so  as  to  avoid  waiting  in  the  rank  of  car- 
riages. Macleod  accompanied  his  companion  meekly.  All  this 
scene  around  him — the  flashing  lights  of  the  broughams,  the  brill- 
iant windows,  the  stepping  across  the  pavement  of  a  strangely 
dressed  dignitary  from  some  foreign  land — seemed  but  some  oth- 
er part  of  that  idream  from  which  he  had  not  quite  shaken  him- 
self free.  His  head  was  still  full  of  the  sorrows  and  coquetries 
of  that  wild -spirited  heroine.  Whither  had  she  gone  by  this 
time — away  into  some  strange  valley  of  that  unknown  world? 

lie  was  better  able  than  Mr.  Ogilvic  to  push  his  way  through 
the  crowd  of  footmen  who  stood  in  two  lines  across  the  pave- 
ment in  front  of  Beauregard  House,  watching  for  the  first  appear- 
ance of  their  master  or  mistress ;  but  he  resignedly  followed,  and 
found  himself  in  the  avenue  leading  clear  up  to  the  steps.  Tliev 
v.'ere  not  the  only  arrivals,  late  as  the  hour  was.  Two  young 
girls,  sisters,  clad  in  cream -white  silk  witli  a  gold  fringe  across 
their  shoulders  and  sleeves,  preceded  them  ;  and  he  was  greatly 
]»Ieased  by  the  manner  in  which  these  young  ladies,  on  meeting 
in  the  great  hall  an  eldcrlyjfady  who  was  presumably  a  person  of 
some  distinction,  dropped  a  pretty  little  old-fashioned  courtesy 
as  they  shook  hands  with  her.  He  admired  much  less  the  more 
formal  obeisance  which  he  noticed  a  second  after.  A  royal  per- 
sonage was  leaving ;  and  as  this  lady,  who  was  dressed  in  mourn- 
ing, and  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman  whose  coat  was 
blazing  with  diamond  stars,  and  whose  breast  was  barred  across 
with  a  broad  blue  ribbon,  came  along  the  spacious  landing  at  the 


IN    I'AUK    LANE.  45 

foot  of  tlic  wide  staircase,  she  graciously  extended  her  hand  and 
said  a  few  words  to  siicli  of  the  ladies  standing  by  as  she  knew. 
That  deep  bending  of  the  knee  lie  considered  to  bo  less  pretty 
than  the  little  courtesy  performed  by  the  young  ladies  in  cream- 
wliite  silk.  lie  intended  to  mention  this  matter  to  his  cousin 
Janet. 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  Princess  had  left,  the  lane  througli  which 
she  had  passed  closed  up  again,  and  the  crowd  became  a  confused 
mass  of  murmuring  groups.  Still  meekly  following,  Maclcod 
plunged  into  this  throng,  and  presently  found  himself  being  in- 
troduced to  Lady  Beauregard — an  amiable  little  woman  who  had 
been  a  great  beauty  in  her  time,  and  was  pleasant  enough  to  look 
at  now.     lie  passed  on. 

"  Who  is  the  man  with  the  blue  ribbon  and  the  diamond 
stars  ?"  he  asked  of  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

"  That  is  Monsieur  le  Marquis  himself — that  is  your  host,"  the 
young  gentleman  replied — only  Macleod  could  not  tell  why  he 
was  obviously  trying  to  repress  some  covert  merriment. 

"Didn't  you  hear?"  Mr.  Ogilvie  said  at  length.  "Don't  you 
know  what  he  called  you  ?  That  man  will  be  the  death  of  me — 
for  he's  always  at  it.  He  announced  you  as  Sir  Thief  Macleod — 
I  will  swear  he  did." 

"  I  should  not  have  thought  he  had  so  much  historical  knowl- 
edge," Macleod  answered,  gravely,  "  He  must  have  been  reading 
up  about  the  clans." 

At  this  moment  Lady  Beauregard,  who  had  been  receiving 
some  other  late  visitors,  came  up  and  said  she  wished  to  introduce 
him  to — he  could  not  make  out  the  name.  lie  followed  her. 
He  was  introduced  to  a  stout  elderly  lady,  who  still  had  beauti- 
fully fine  features,  and  a  simple  and  calm  air  which  rather  im- 
pressed him.  It  is  true  that  at  first  a  thrill  of  compassion  went 
through  him ;  for  he  thought  that  some  accident  had  befallen 
the  poor  lady's  costume,  and  that  it  had  fallen  down  a  bit  un- 
known to  herself;  but  he  soon  perceived  that  most  of  the  other 
women  were  dressed  similarly,  some  of  the  younger  ones,  indeed, 
having  the  back  of  their  dress  open  practically  to  the  waist.  He 
wondered  v>'hat  his  mother  and  Janet  would  say  to  this  style. 

"Don't  you  think  the  Princess  is  looking  pale?"  he  was  asked. 

"  I  thought  she  looked  very  pretty — I  never  saw  her  before," 
said  he. 


46  MACLEOD    OK    DAUE. 

What  next?  That  calm  air  was  a  trifle  cold  and  distant,  lie 
did  not  know  who  the  woman  was,  or  where  she  lived,  or  whether 
lier  husband  liad  any  sliooting,  or  a  yacht,  or  a  pack  of  hounds. 
Wliat  was  he  to  say  ?     lie  returned  to  the  Princess. 

"  I  only  saw  her  as  she  was  leaving,"  said  he.  "  We  came 
late.     We  were  at  the  Piccadilly  Theatre." 

"Oh,  you  saw  Miss  Gertrude  White,"  said  this  stout  lady; 
and  he  was  glad  to  see  her  eyes  light  up  ^Yith  some  interest. 
"  She  is  very  clever,  is  she  not  ? — and  so  pretty  and  engaging.  I 
wish  I  knew  some  one  Avho  knew  her." 

"  I  know  some  friends  of  hers,"  Maclcod  said,  rather  timidly. 

"Oh,  do  yon,  really?  Do  you  think  she  would  give  nie  a 
morning  performance  f.)r  my  Fund?" 

This  lady  seemed  to  take  it  so  much  for  granted  that  every 
one  must  have  heard  of  her  Fund  that  he  dared  not  confess  his 
ignorance.  But  it  was  surely  some  charitable  thing;  and  how 
could  he  doubt  that  Miss  White  would  immediately  respond  to 
such  an  appeal  ? 

"I  should  think  that  she  would,"  said  he,  v.ith  a  little  hesita- 
tion ;  but  at  this  moment  some  other  claimant  came  forward, 
and  he  turned  away  to  seek  young  Ogilvic  once  more. 

"  Ogilvic,"  said  he,  "  wKo  is  that  lady  in  the  green  satin  ?" 

"  The  Duchess  of  Wexford." 

"Has  she  a  Fund?" 

"A  what?" 

"A  Fund — a  charitable  Fund  of  some  sort." 

"  Oh,  let  me  see.  I  think  she  is  getting  up  money  for  a  new 
training-ship — turning  the  young  ragamuffins  about  the  streets 
into  sailors,  don't  you  know." 

"Do  you  think  Miss  White  would  give  a  morning  perform- 
ance for  that  Fund  ?" 

"  Miss  White  !  Miss  White  !  Miss  White !"  said  Lieutenant 
Ou'ilvie.     "  I  think  Miss  White  has  got  into  vour  head." 

"  But  that  lady  asked  me." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  it  Avas  exactly  the  thing  that  Miss  White 
would  like  to  do — get  mixed  up  with  a  whole  string  of  duchesses 
and  marchionesses — a  capital  advertisement — and  it  Avould  be  all 
the  more  distinguished  if  it  was  an  amateur  performance,  and 
Miss  Gertrude  W^liitc  the  only  professional  admitted  into  the 
charmed  circle." 


IN    PAUK    LANK.  47 

"You  arc  a  very  slivcwd  boy,  Ooilvic,"  Maclcod  observed.  "I 
dou't  know  how  you  ever  got  so  much  wisdom  into  so  small  a 
head." 

And  indeed,  as  Lieutenant  Ogilvio  was  returning  to  Aldershot 
by  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  the  cold-meat  train,  he  continued 
to  play  the  part  of  Mentor  for  a  time  with  great  assiduity,  un- 
til Maclcod  was  fairly  confused  with  the  number  of  persons  to 
Avhom  he  was  introduced,  and  the  remarks  his  friend  made  about 
them.  What  struck  him  most,  perhaps,  was  the  recurrence  of 
old  Highland  or  Scotch  family  names,  borne  by  persons  who  were 
thoroughly  English  in  their  speech  and  ways.  Fancy  a  Gordon 
who  said  "lock"  for  "loch;"  a  Mackenzie  who  had  never  seen 
the  Lewis;  a  Mac  Alpine  who  had  never  heard  the  proverb, 
"  The  hills,  the  Mac  Alpines,  and  the  devil  came  into  the  world 
at  the  same  time  !" 

It  was  a  pretty  scene ;  and  he  was  young,  and  eager,  and  cu- 
rious, and  he  enjoyed  it.  After  standing  about  for  half  an 
hour  or  so,  he  got  into  a  corner  from  which,  in  quiet,  he  could 
better  see  the  brilliant  picture  as  a  whole :  the  bright,  harmoni- 
ous dresses;  the  glimpses  of  beautiful  eyes  and  blooming  com- 
plexions ;  the  masses  of  foxgloves  which  Lady  Beauregard  had 
as  the  only  floral  decoration  of  the  evening ;  the  pale  canary-col- 
ored panels  and  silver-fluted  columns  of  the  walls ;  and  over  all 
the  various  candelabra,  each  bearing  a  cluster  of  sparkling  and 
golden  stars.  But  there  was  something  wanting.  Was  it  the 
noble  and  silver-haired  lady  of  Castle  Dare  whom  he  looked  for 
in  vain  in  that  brilliant  crowd  that  moved  and  murmured  before 
liira  ?  Or  was  it  the  friendly  and  familiar  face  of  his  cousin 
Janet,  whose  eyes,  he  knew,  would  be  filled  with  a  constant  won- 
der if  she  saw  such  diamonds,  and  silks,  and  satins  ?  Or  was  it 
that  ignis  fatuns — that  treacherous  and  mocking  fire — that  might 
at  any  time  glimmer  in  some  suddenly  presented  face  with  a 
new  surprise  ?  Had  she  deceived  him  altogether  down  at  Prince's 
Gate?  Was  her  real  nature  that  of  the  wayward,  bright,  mis- 
chievous, spoiled  child  whose  very  tenderness  only  prepared  her 
unsuspecting  victim  for  a  merciless  thrust?  And  yet  the  sound 
of  her  sobbing  was  still  in  his  ears.  A  true  woman's  heart  beat 
beneath  that  idle  raillery  :  challenged  boldly,  would  it  not  an- 
swer loyally  and  without  fear  ? 

Psychological  puzzles  were  new  to  this  son  of  the  mountains; 


48  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

and  it  is  no  Avondcr  that,  long  after  he  had  bidden  good-bye  to 
his  friend  Ogilvie,  and  as  he  sat  tliinking  alone  in  his  own  room, 
with  Oscar  Ivins;  across  the  ruo;  at  his  feet,  his  mind  refused  to  be 
quieted.  One  picture  after  another  presented  itself  to  his  imag- 
ination :  the  proud-souled  enthusiast  longing  for  the  wild  winter 
nights  and  the  dark  Atlantic  seas;  the  pensive  maiden,  shudder- 
ing to  hear  the  fierce  story  of  Maclean  of  Lochbuy ;  the  spoiled 
child,  teasing  her  mamma  and  petting  her  canary ;  the  wronged 
and  vt'ceping  woman,  her  frame  shaken  with  sobs,  her  hands 
clasped  in  despair ;  the  artful  and  demure  coquette,  mocking  her 
lover  with  her  sentimental  farewells.  Which  of  them  all  was 
she?  Vv'hicli  should  he  see  in  the  morning?  Or  would  she  ap- 
pear as  some  still  more  elusive  vision,  retreating  before  him  as 
he  advanced  ? 

Had  he  asked  himself,  he  would  have  said  that  these  specula- 
tions were  but  the  fruit  of  a  natural  curiosity.  Yvliy  should  he 
not  be  interested  in  finding  out  the  real  nature  of  this  girl,  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  just  made  ?  It  has  been  observed,  however, 
that  young  gentlemen  do  not  always  betray  this  frantic  devotion 
to  psychological  inquiry  when  the  subject  of  it,  instead  of  being 
a  fascinating  maiden  of  twenty,  is  a  homely-featured  lady  of  fifty. 

Time  passed ;  another  cigar  was  lit ;  the  blue  light  outside  was 
becoming  silvery ;  and  yet  the  problem  remained  unsolved.  A 
fire  of  impatience  and  restlessness  was  burning  in  his  heart;  a 
din  as  of  brazen  instruments — what  was  the  air  the  furious  or- 
chestra played? — was  in  his  ears;  sleep  or  rest  was  out  of  the 
question. 

"  Oscar !"  he  called.     "  Oscar,  my  lad,  let  us  go  out  1" 

When  he  stealthily  went  down-stairs,  and  opened  the  door  and 
passed  into  the  street,  behold !  the  new  day  was  shining  abroad 
— and  how  cold,  and  still,  and  silent  it  was  after  the  hot  glare 
and  the  whirl  of  that  bewildering  night !  No  living  thing  was 
-visible.  A  fresh,  sweet  air  stirred  the  leaves  of  the  trees  and 
bushes  in  St.  James's  Square.  There  was  a  pale  lemon-yellow 
glow  in  the  sky,  and  the  long,  empty  thoroughfare  of  Pall  Mall 
seemed  coldly  white. 

Was  this  a  somnambulist,  then,  v.ho  wandered  idly  along 
through  the  silent  streets,  apparently  seeing  nothing  of  the  closed 
doors  and  the  shuttered  windows  on  either  hand  ?  A  policeman, 
standinc:  at  the  corner  of  Waterloo  Place,  stared  at  the  apparition 


IN    PAUK    LANE.  4t) 

— at  the  twill  iippaiition,  for  this  tall  young  gciitlcinau  with  the 
light  top-coat  thrown  over  his  evening  dress  was  accompanied 
by  a  beautiful  collie  that  kept  close  to  his  heels.  There  was  a 
solitary  four-wheeled  cab  at  the  foot  of  the  Haymarkct;  but 
the  man  had  got  inside  and  was  doubtless  asleep.  The  Embank- 
ment?— with  the  young  trees  stirring  in  the  still  morning  air; 
and  the  broad  bosom  of  the  river  catching  the  gathering  glow  of 
the  skies.  He  leaned  on  the  gray  stone  parapet,  and  looked  out 
on  the  placid  waters  of  the  stream. 

Placid,  indeed,  the}'  were  as  they  went  flowing  quietly  by  ;  and 
the  young  day  promised  to  be  bright  enough ;  and  why  should 
there  be  aught  but  peace  and  good-will  upon  earth  toward  all 
men  and  women  ?  Surely  there  was  no  call  for  any  unrest,  or 
fear,  or  foreboding?  The  still  and  shining  morning  was  but  em- 
blematic of  his  life — if  only  he  knew,  and  were  content.  And 
indeed  he  looked  contented  enough,  as  he  wandered  on,  breathing 
the  cool  freshness  of  the  air,  and  with  a  warmer  light  from  the 
east  now  touching  from  time  to  time  his  sun-tanned  face.  lie 
went  up  to  Covent  Garden — for  mere  curiosity's  sake.  lie  walk- 
ed along  Piccadilly,  and  thought  the  elms  in  the  Green  Park 
looked  more  beautiful  than  ever.  When  he  returned  to  his  rooms 
he  was  of  opinion  that  it  was  scarcely  worth  while  to  go  to  bed ; 
and  so  he  changed  his  clothes,  and  called  for  breakfast  as  soon 
as  some  one  was  up.  In  a  short  time — after  his  newspaper  had 
been  read — he  would  have  to  go  down  to  Charing  Cross, 

What  of  tliis  morning  walk  ?  Perhaps  it  was  unimportant 
enough.  Only,  in  after-times,  he  once  or  twice  thouglit  of  it ; 
and  very  clearly  indeed  he  could  see  himself  standing  there  in  the 
early  light,  looking  out  on  the  shining  waters  of  the  river.  They 
say  that  when  you  see  yourself  too  vividly — when  you  imagine 
that  you  yourself  are  standing  before  yourself — that  is  one  of 
the  signs  of  madness. 


60  MACLliOD    01<'    DARE. 


ClIAlTEil  VI. 

A    SUMMEPw    DAY    ON    THE    THAMES. 

It  occurred  to  liim  as  lie  walked  down  to  the  station — perhaps 
he  went  early  on  the  chance  of  finding  her  there  alone — that  he 
ought  seriously  to  study  the  features  of  this  girl's  face ;  for  v/as 
tlierc  not  a  great  deal  of  character  to  be  learned,  or  guessed  at, 
that  way  ?  lie  had  but  the  vaguest  notion  of  what  she  was  re- 
ally like.  lie  knew  that  her  teeth  were  pearly  white  when  she 
smiled,  and  that  the  rippling  golden-brown  hair  lay  rather  low  on 
a  calm  and  thoughtful  forehead ;  but  he  had  a  less  distinct  im- 
pression that  her  nose  was  perhaps  the  least  thing  retrousse  ;  and 
as  to  her  eyes?  They  might  be  blue,  gra}',  or  green,  but  one 
thing  he  was  sure  of  was  that  they  could  speak  more  than  was 
ever  uttered  by  any  speech.  He  knew,  besides,  that  she  had  an 
exquisite  figure :  perhaps  it  was  the  fact  that  her  shoulders  were 
a  trifle  squarcr  than  is  common  with  women  that  made  her  look 
somewhat  taller  than  she  really  was. 

lie  would  confirm  or  correct  these  vague  impressions.  And 
as  the  chances  were  that  they  would  spend  a  whole  long  day  to- 
gether, he  would  have  abundant  opportunity  of  getting  to  know 
something  about  the  character  and  disposition  of  this  new  ac- 
quaintance, so  that  she  should  no  longer  be  to  him  a  puzzling 
and  distracting  will-o'-thc-wisp.  What  had  he  come  to  London 
for  but  to  improve  his  knov,'lcdge  of  men  and  of  women,  and  to 
see  what  was  going  on  in  the  larger  world  ?  And  so  this  earnest 
student  walked  down  to  the  station. 

There  were  a  good  many  people  about,  mostly  in  groups  chat- 
ting with  each  other ;  but  he  recognized  no  one.  Perhaps  he 
was  looking  out  for  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Boss ;  perhaps  for  a  slender 
figure  in  black,  with  blue  beads ;  at  all  events,  he  was  gazing 
somewhat  vacantly  around  when  some  one  turned  close  by  him. 
Then  his  lieart  stood  still  for  a  second.  The  sudden  light  that 
sprang  to  her  face  when  she  recognized  him  blinded  him.  Was 
it  to  be  always  so?     Was  she  always  to  come  upon  him  in  a 


A  SUMMER  DAY  ON  THE  THAMES.  51 

flash,  as  it  were  ?  What  chance  had  tlic  poor  student  of  f  ulfillino- 
his  patient  task  wlien,  on  his  approacli,  he  was  sure  to  be  met 
by  this  surprise  of  the  parted  lips,  and  sudden  smile,  and  bright 
look  ?  He  was  far  too  bewildered  to  examine  the  outline  of  her 
nose  or  the  curve  of  the  exquisitely  short  upper  lip. 

But  the  plain  truth  was  that  there  was  no  extravagant  joy  at 
all  in  Miss  AVhite's  face,  but  a  very  slight  and  perhaps  pleased 
surprise ;  and  she  was  not  in  the  least  embarrassed. 

"Are  you  looking  for  Mrs.  Ross,"  said  she,  "like  myself?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he ;  and  then  he  found  himself  exceedingly  anx- 
ious to  say  a  great  deal  to  her,  Avithout  knowing  where  to  begin. 
She  had  surprised  him  too  much — as  usual.  She  was  so  differ- 
ent from  what  he  had  been  dreaming  about.  Here  was  no  one 
of  the  imaginary  creatures  that  had  risen  before  his  mind  during 
the  stillness  of  the  night.  Even  the  pale  dreamer  in  black  and 
blue  beads  was  gone.  He  found  before  him  (as  far  as  he  could 
make  out)  a  quiet,  bright-faced,  self-possessed  girl,  clad  in  a  light 
and  cool  costume  of  white,  with  bits  of  black  velvet  about  it; 
and  her  white  gloves  and  sun-shade,  and  the  white  silver  chain 
round  her  slender  waist,  were  important  features  in  the  picture 
she  presented.  IIow  could  this  eager  student  of  character  get 
rid  of  these  distressing  trivialities?  All  night  long  he  had  been 
dreaming  of  beautiful  sentiments  and  conflicting  emotions :  now 
liis  first  thought  Avas  that  he  had  never  seen  any  costume  so  de- 
lightfully cool,  and  clear,  and  summer-like.  To  look  at  her  was 
to  think  of  a  mountain  spring,  icy  cold  even  in  the  sunshine. 

"I  always  come  early,"  said  she,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  w^ay. 
"  I  cannot  bear  hurry  in  catching  a  train." 

Of  course  not.  IIow  could  any  one  associate  rattling  cabs, 
and  excited  porters,  and  frantic  mobs  with  this  serene  creature, 
who  seemed  to  have  been  wafted  to  Charing  Cross  on  a  cloud? 
And  if  he  had  had  his  will,  there  would  have  been  no  special 
train  to  disturb  her  repose.  She  would  have  embarked  in  a  no- 
ble barge,  and  lain  upon  couches  of  swan's-down,  and  ample  awn- 
ings of  silk  would  have  sheltered  her  from  the  sun,  while  the 
beautiful  craft  floated  away  down  the  river,  its  crimson  hangings 
here  and  there  just  touching  the  rippling  waters. 

"  Ought  we  to  take  tickets  ?" 

That  was  what  she  actually  said ;  but  what  those  eloquent,  in- 
nocent eyes  seemed  to  say  was,  "  Can  you  read  lohat  we  have  to 


52  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

tell  you?  DouH  you  know  what  a  simple  and  confidhifj  soul  ap- 
peals to  you? — clear  as  the  daylight  in  its  truth.  Cannot  you 
look  through  us  and  see  the  trusting,  tender  soul  within  T' 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  wait  for  Colonel  Ross,"  said  he  ;  and 
there  was  a  little  pronoun  in  this  sentence  that  he  wonld  like  lo 
have  repeated.  It  was  a  friendly  word.  It  established  a  sort  of 
secret  companionship.  It  is  the  proud  privilege  of  a  man  to  knoAv 
all  about  railway  tickets ;  but  he  rather  preferred  this  association 
■with  her  helpless  innocence  and  ignorance. 

"I  had  no  idea  \o\\  were  eoming  to-dav.  I  rather  like  those 
surprise  parties.  Mrs.  Ross  never  thought  of  going  until  last 
evening,  she  says.  Oh,  by-the-way,  I  saw  you  in  the  theatre  last 
evening." 

He  almost  started.  lie  had  quite  forgotten  that  this  self-pos- 
sessed, clear-eyed,  pale  girl  was  the  madcap  coquette  whose  ca- 
prices and  griefs  had  alternately  fascinated  and  moved  him  on 
the  previous  evening. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  he  stammered.  "  It  was  a  gi'eat  pleasure  to  mc 
— and  a  surprise.  Lieutenant  Ogilvie  played  a  triclc  upon  mc. 
He  did  not  tell  me  before  v.-e  went  that — that  you  were  to  ap- 
pear." 

She  looked  amused: 

"You  did  not  know,  then,  when  we  met  at  Mrs.  Ross's,  tliat 
I  was  engaged  at  the  Piccadilly  Theatre?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  said,  earnestly,  as  if  he  wished  her  dis- 
tinctly to  nnderstand  that  he  could  not  have  imagined  sucli  a 
thing  to  be  possible. 

"  You  should  have  let  mc  send  yon  a  box.  We  liavc  another 
piece  in  rehearsal.     Perhaps  you  will  come  to  see  that." 

Now  if  these  few  sentences,  uttered  by  those  two  young  peo- 
ple in  tlic  noisy  railway  station,  be  taken  by  themselves  and  re- 
garded, they  will  be  found  to  consist  of  the  dullest  commonplace. 
No  two  stransrers  in  all  that  crowd  could  have  addressed  each  oth- 
er  in  a  more  indifferent  fashion.  But  the  trivial  nothings  which 
the  mouth  ntters  may  become  possessed  of  awful  import  when 
accompanied  by  the  language  of  the  eyes;  and  the  poor  common- 
place sentences  may  be  taken  up  and  translated  so  that  they  shall 
.stand  written  across  the  memory  in  letters  of  flashing  sunlight 
and  the  colors  of  June.  ^^ Ought  'we  to  take  tickets?'''  There  was 
not  much  poetry  in  the  phrase ;  but  she  lifted  lier  eyes  just  then. 


A  SUMMER  DAY  ON  THE  THAMES.  53 

And  now  Colonel  Ross  and  Lis  wife  appeared,  accompanied  by 
the  only  other  friend  they  could  get  at  such  short  notice  to  join 
this  scratch  party — a  deuiure  little  old  lady  who  had  a  very  large 
house  on  Cainpdcn  Hill  which  everybody  coveted.  They  Avere 
just  in  time  to  get  comfortably  seated  in  the  spacious  saloon  car- 
riage that  had  been  reserved  for  them.  The  train  slowly  glided 
out  of  the  station,  and  then  began  to  rattle  away  from  the  mist 
of  London.  Glimpses  of  a  keener  blue  began  to  appear.  The 
gardens  were  green  with  the  foliage  of  the  early  summer;  mar- 
tins swept  across  the  still  pools,  a  spot  of  white  when  they  got 
into  the  shadow.  And  Miss  White  would  have  as  many  windows 
open  as  possible,  so  that  the  sweet  June  air  swept  right  through 
the  long  carriage. 

And  was  she  not  a  very  child  in  her  enjoyment  of  this  sudden 
escape  into  the  country  ?  The  rapid  motion,  the  silvery  light, 
the  sweet  air,  the  glimpses  of  orchards,  and  farm-houses,  and  mill- 
streams — all  were  a  delight  to  her ;  and  although  she  talked  in  a 
delicate,  half-reserved,  shy  way  with  that  low  voice  of  hers,  still 
there  was  plenty  of  vivacity  and  gladness  in  her  eyes.  They  drove 
from  Gravesend  station  to  the  river-side.  They  passed  through 
the  crowd  waiting  to  see  the  yachts  start.  They  got  on  board  the 
steamer ;  and  at  the  very  instant  that  Macleod  stepped  from  the 
gangway  on  to  the  deck,  the  military  band  on  board,  by  some 
strange  coincidence,  struck  up  "A  Highland  lad  my  love  was 
born."  Mrs.  Ross  laughed,  and  wondered  whether  the  band-mas- 
ter had  recognized  her  husband. 

And  now  they  turned  to  the  river ;  and  there  were  the  narrow 
and  shapely  cutters,  with  their  tall  spars,  and  their  pennons  flut- 
tering in  the  sunlight.  They  lay  in  two  tiers  across  the  river, 
four  in  each  tier,  the  first  row  consisting  of  small  forty-tonners, 
the  more  stately  craft  behind.  A  brisk  north-easterly  wind  was 
blowing,  causing  the  bosom  of  the  river  to  flash  in  ripples  of  light. 
Boats  of  every  size  and  shape  moved  up  and  down  and  across 
the  stream.  The  sudden  firing  of  a  gun  caused  some  movement 
among  the  red-capped  mariners  of  the  four  yachts  in  front. 

"  They  are  standing  by  the  main  halyards,"  said  Colonel  Ross 
to  his  women-folk.     "  Now  watch  for  the  next  signal." 

Another  gun  was  fired ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  rat- 
tling of  blocks  and  chains,  and  the  four  main-sails  slowly  rose, 
and  the  flapping  jibs  were  run  out.     The  bows  drifted  round : 


54  MACLEOD    OF   DARE. 

which  would  get  way  on  her  first?  But  now  there  was  a  wild 
uproar  of  voices.  The  boom  end  of  one  of  the  yachts  had  caught 
one  uf  the  stays  of  her  companion,  and  both  were  bronglit  up 
head  to  wind.  Cutter  No.  3  took  advantage  of  the  mishap  to 
sail  through  the  lee  of  both  her  enemies,  and  got  clear  away, 
with  the  sunlight  shining  full  on  her  bellying  canvas.  But  there 
was  no  time  to  watch  the  further  adventures  of  the  forty-tonners. 
Here  and  closer  at  hand  were  the  larger  craft,  and  high  up  in  the 
rigging  were  the  mites  of  men,  ready  to  drop  into  the  air,  clinging 
on  to  the  halyards.  The  gun  is  fired.  Down  they  come,  swing- 
ing in  the  air ;  and  the  moment  they  have  reached  the  deck  they 
are  off  and  up  the  ratlines  again,  again  to  drop  into  the  air  until 
the  gaff  is  high  hoisted,  the  peak  swinging  this  way  and  that, 
and  the  gray  folds  of  the  main-sail  lazily  flapping  in  the  wind. 
The  steamer  begins  to  roar.  The  yachts  fail  away  from  their 
moorings,  and  one  by  one  the  sails  fill  out  to  the  fresh  breeze. 
And  now  all  is  silence  and  an  easy  gliding  motion,  for  the  eight 
competitors  have  all  started  away,  and  the  steamer  is  smoothly 
following  them. 

"  How  beautiful  they  are  ! — like  splendid  .swans,"  Miss  White 
said:  she  had  a  glass  in  her  hand,  but  did  not  use  it,  for  as  yet 
the  stately  fleet  was  near  enough. 

"A  swan  has  a  body,"  said  Macleod.  "These  things  seem  to 
me  to  be  all  wings.     It  is  all  canvas,  and  no  hull." 

And,  indeed,  when  the  large  top-sails  and  big  jibs  came  to  be 
set,  it  certainly  appeared  as  if  there  was  nothing  below  to  steady 
this  vast  extent  of  canvas.  Macleod  was  astonished.  He  could 
not  believe  that  people  were  so  reckless  as  to  go  out  in  boats  like 
that. 

"If  they  were  up  in  our  part  of  the  world,"  said  he,  "a  puff 
of  wind  from  tlie  Gribun  Cliffs  would  send  the  whole  fleet  to  the 
bottom." 

"They  know  better  than  to  try,"  Colonel  Ross  said.  "Those 
yachts  are  admirably  suited  for  the  Thames ;  and  Thames  yacht- 
ing is  a  very  nice  thing.  It  is  very  close  to  London.  You  can 
take  a  day's  fresh  air  when  you  like,  without  going  all  the  way 
to  Cowes.     Yon  can  get  back  to  town  in  time  to  dine." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Miss  White,  with  emphasis. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  be  afraid,"  her  host  said,  laughing.  "  They 
only  go  round  the  Norc ;  and  with  this  steady  breeze  they  ought 


A  SUMMER  DAY  ON  THE  THAMES.  55 

to  be  back  curly  in  the  afternoon.  My  dear  Miss  White,  we 
sha'n't  allow  you  to  disappoint  the  British  public." 

"  So  I  may  abandon  myself  to  complete  idleness  without  con- 
cern ?" 

"  Most  certainly." 

And  it  was  an  enjoyable  sort  of  idleness.  The  river  was  full 
of  life  and  animation  as  they  glided  along;  fitful  shadows  and 
bursts  of  sunshine  crossed  the  foliage  and  pasture-lands  of  the 
flat  shores ;  the  yellow  surface  of  the  stream  was  broken  with 
gleams  of  silver  ;  and  always,  when  this  somewhat  tame,  and 
peaceful,  and  pretty  landscape  tended  to  become  monotonous,  they 
liad  on  this  side  or  that  the  spectacle  of  one  of  those  tall  and 
beautiful  yachts  rounding  on  a  new  tack  or  creeping  steadily  up 
on  one  of  her  opponents.  They  had  a  sweepstakes,  of  course, 
and  Macleod  drew  the  favorite.  But  then  he  proceeded  to  ex- 
plain to  Miss  White  that  the  handicapping  by  means  of  time  al- 
lowances made  the  choice  of  a  favorite  a  mere  matter  of  guess- 
work; that  the  fouling  at  the  start  was  of  but  little  moment; 
and  that  on  the  whole  she  ought  to  exchange  yachts  with  him. 

"  But  if  the  chances  are  all  equal,  why  should  your  yacht  be 
better  than  mine  V  said  she. 

The  argument  was  unanswerable ;  but  she  took  the  favorite  for 
all  that,  because  he  wished  her  to  do  so ;  and  she  tendered  him 
in  return  the  bit  of  folded  paper  with  the  name  of  a  rival  yacht 
on  it.  It  had  been  in  her  purse  for  a  minute  or  two.  It  was 
scented  when  she  handed  it  to  him. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  the  Mediterranean  in  one  of  those 
beautiful  yachts,"  she  said,  looking  away  across  the  troubled  wa- 
ters, "  and  lie  and  dream  under  the  blue  skies.  I  should  want 
no  other  occupation  than  that :  that  would  be  real  idleness, 
with  a  breatli  of  wind  now  and  then  to  temper  the  heat ;  and  an 
awning  over  the  deck ;  and  a  lot  of  books.  Life  would  go  by 
like  a  dream." 

Her  eyes  were  distant  and  pensive.  To  fold  the  bits  of  paper, 
she  had  taken  off  her  gloves :  he  regarded  the  small  white  hands, 
with  the  blue  veins  and  the  pink,  almond-shaped  nails.  She  was 
right.  That  Avas  the  proper  sort  of  existence  for  one  so  fine  and 
pale,  and  perfect  even  to  the  finger-tips.  Rose  Leaf — Rose  Leaf 
— what  faint  wind  will  carry  you  away  to  the  south  ? 

At  this  numient  the  band  struck  np  a  lively  air.     What  was  it? 


56  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  0  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie, 
Fair  though  the  lassie  be." 

"  You  arc  in  great  favor,  to-day,  Hugh,"  Mrs.  Ross  said  to  her  hus- 
band.    "  You  will  have  to  ask  the  band-master  to  lunch  with  us." 

But  this  sharp  alterative  of  a  well-known  air  had  sent  Mac- 
leod's  thoughts  flying  away  northward,  to  scenes  far  diiferent 
from  these  flat  shores,  and  to  a  sort  of  boating  very  different  from 
this  summer  sailing.  Janet,  too  :  what  was  she  thinking  of — far 
away  in  Castle  Dare  ?  Of  the  wild  morning  on  which  she  in- 
sisted on  crossing  to  one  of  the  Frcshnist  islands,  because  of  the 
sick  child  of  a  shepherd  there ;  and  of  the  open  licrring  smack, 
and  she  sitting  on  the  ballast  stones ;  and  of  the  fierce  gale  of 
wind  and  rain  that  hid  the  island  from  their  sight;  and  of  her 
landing,  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  with  the  salt-water  running 
from  her  hair  and  down  her  face  ? 

"  Now  for  lunch,"  said  Colonel  Ross ;  and  they  went  below. 

The  bright  little  saloon  was  decorated  with  flowers;  the  col- 
ored glass  on  tlie  table  looked  pretty  enough  ;  here  was  a  pleasant 
break  in  the  monotony  of  the  day.  It  was  an  occasion,  too,  for 
assiduous  helpfulness,  and  gentle  inquiries,  and  patient  attention. 
They  forgot  about  the  various  chances  of  the  yachts.  They 
could  not  at  once  have  remembered  the  name  of  the  favorite. 
And  there  was  a  good  deal  of  laughter  and  pleasant  chatting, 
while  the  band  overhead — heard  through  the  open  sky-light — still 
played, 

"  0  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie. 
Kind  though  the  lassie  be." 

And  behold !  when  they  went  up  on  deck  again  they  had  got 
ahead  of  all  the  yachts,  and  were  past  the  forts  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Medway,  and  were  out  on  an  open  space  of  yellowish-green 
water  that  showed  where  the  tide  of  the  sea  met  the  current  of  the 
river.  And  away  down  there  in  the  south,  a  long  spur  of  land 
ran  out  at  the  horizon,  and  the  sea  immediately  under  was  still  and 
glassy,  so  that  the  neck  of  land  seemed  projected  into  the  sky — 
a  sort  of  gigantic  razor-fish  suspended  in  the  silvery  clouds.  Then, 
to  give  the  yachts  time  to  overtake  them,  they  steamed  over  to  a 
mighty  iron-clad  that  lay  at  anchor  there  ;  and  as  they  came  near 
her  vast  black  bulk  they  lowered  their  flag,  and  the  band  played 
"Rule,  Britannia."  The  salute  was  returned;  the  officer  on  the- 
high  quarter-deck  raised  his  cap  ;  they  steamed  on. 


A  SUMMER  DAY  ON  THE  THAMES.  57 

In  due  course  of  time  tlicy  reached  the  Nore  liglit-sliip,  and 
there  they  lay  and  drifted  about  until  the  yachts  should  come  up. 
Long-  distances  now  separated  that  sinnnier  fleet;  hut  as  they 
came  along,  lying  well  over  before  the  brisk  breeze,  it  was  obvi- 
ous that  the  spaces  of  time  between  the  combatants  would  not  be 
great.  And  is  not  this  Miss  White's  vessel,  the  favorite  in  the 
betting,  that  comes  sheering  through  the  water,  with  white  foam 
at  her  bows  ?  Surely  she  is  more  than  her  time  allowance  ahead? 
And  on  this  tack  will  she  get  clear  round  the  ruddy  little  light- 
ship, or  is  there  not  a  danger  of  her  carrying  o£E  a  bowsprit? 
With  what  an  ease  and  majesty  she  comes  along,  scarcely  dipping 
to  the  slif-ht  summer  waves,  while  thev  on  board  notice  that  she 
has  put  out  her  long  spinnaker  boom,  ready  to  lioist  a  great  bal- 
looner  as  soon  as  she  is  round  the  light-ship  and  running  home 
before  the  wind.  The  speed  at  which  she  cuts  the  water  is  nov/ 
visible  enough  as  she  obscures  for  a  second  or  so  the  hull  of  the 
light-ship.  In  another  second  she  has  sheered  round;  and  then 
the  great  spinnaker  bulges  out  with  the  breeze,  and  away  she  goes 
up  the  river  again.  Chronometers  are  in  request.  It  is  only  a 
matter  of  fifty  seconds  that  her  nearest  rival,  now  coming  sweep- 
ing along,  has  to  make  up.  But  what  is  this  that  happens  just 
as  the  enemy  has  got  round  the  Nore  ?  There  is  a  cry  of  "  Man 
overboard  !"  The  spinnaker  boom  has  caught  the  careless  skip- 
per and  pitched  him  clean  into  the  plashing  waters,  where  ho 
floats  about,  not  as  yet  certain,  probably,  what  course  his  vessel 
will  take.  She  at  once  brings  her  head  up  to  wind  and  puts 
about;  but  meanwhile  a  small  boat  from  the  light-ship  has  picked 
up  the  unhappy  skipper,  and  is  now  pulling  hard  to  strike  the 
course  of  the  yacht  on  her  new  tack.  In  another  minute  or  two 
he  is  on  board  again  ;  and  away  she  goes  for  home. 

"  I  think  you  have  won  the  sweepstakes.  Miss  White,"  Macleod 
said.     "  Your  enemy  has  lost  eight  minutes." 

She  was  not  thinking  of  sweepstakes.  She  seemed  to  have 
been  greatly  frightened  by  the  accident. 

"  It  would  have  been  so  dreadful  to  see  a  man  drowned  before 
your  eyes — in  the  midst  of  a  mere  holiday  excursion." 

"  Drowned  ?"  he  cried.  "  There  ?  If  a  sailor  lets  himself  get 
drowned  in  this  water,  with  all  these  boats  about,  lie  deserves  it." 

"But  there  are  many  sailors  who  cannot  swim  at  all." 

"  More  shame  for  them,"  said  he. 


68  MACLEOD    Oy    UARE. 

"  Why,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  langliing,  "  do  you  think 
that  all  people  have  been  brought  np  to  an  amphibious  life  like 
yourself?  I  suppose  in  your  country,  what  with  the  rain  and  the 
mist,  you  seldom  know  whether  you  are  on  sea  or  shore?" 

"That  is  quite  true,"  said  he,  gravely.  "And  the  children  are 
all  born  with  fins.  And  we  can  hear  the  mermaids  singing  all 
day  long.  And  when  we  want  to  go  anywhere,  we  get  on  the 
back  of  a  dolphin." 

But  he  looked  at  Gertrude  White.  V/hat  would  she  say  about 
that  far  land  that  she  had  shown  such  a  deep  interest  in  ?  There 
was  no  raillery  at  all  in  her  low  voice  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  can  very  well  understand,"  she  said,  "  how  the  people  there 
fancied  they  heard  the  mermaids  singing — amidst  so  much  mys- 
ter}^  and  with  the  awfulness  of  the  sea  around  them." 

"  But  we  have  had  living  singers,"  said  Macleod,  "  and  that 
among  the  Macleods,  too.  The  most  famous  of  all  the  song- 
writers of  the  Western  Highlands  was  Mary  Macleod,  that  was 
born  in  Harris — Mairi  Nighean  Alasdair  ruaidh,  they  called  hci-, 
that  is,  Mary  the  daughter  of  Red  Alister.  Macleod  of  Dun\e- 
gan,  he  wished  her  not  to  make  any  more  songs ;  but  she  could 
not  cease  the  making  of  songs.  And  there  was  another  Macleod 
— Fionaghal,  they  called  her,  that  is,  the  Fair  Stranger.  I  do  not 
know  why  they  called  her  the  Fair  Stranger — perhaps  she  came 
to  the  Highlands  from  some  distant  place.  And  I  think  if  you 
were  going  among  the  people  there  at  this  very  day,  they  would 
call  you  the  Fair  Stranger." 

He  spoke  quite  naturally  and  thoughtlessly  ;  his  eyes  met  hers 
only  for  a  second ;  he  did  not  notice  the  soft  touch  of  pink  that 
suffused  the  delicately  tinted  cheek. 

-»    "  What  did  you  say  was  the  name  of  that  mysterious  stran- 
ger?" asked  Mrs.  Ross — "that  poetess  from  unknown  lands?" 

"  Fionaghal,"  he  answered. 

She  turned  to  her  husband, 

"  Hugh,"  she  said,  "  let  mo  introduce  you  to  our  mysterious 
guest.  This  is  Fionaghal  —  this  is  the  Fair  Stranger  from  the 
islands — this  is  the  poetess  whose  melodies  the  mermaids  have 
picked  up.  If  she  only  had  a  harp,  now — with  sea-weed  hanging 
from  it — and  an  oval  mirror — " 

The  booming  of  a  gun  told  them  that  the  last  yacht  had 
rounded  the  light -ship.     The  band  struck  up  a  lively  air,  and 


A  SUMMEU  DAY  ON  THE  THAMES.  59 

presently  the  steamer  was  steaming  off  in  the  wake  of  the  pro- 
cession of  yachts.  There  was  now  no  more  fear  that  Miss  White 
should  be  hite.  The  breeze  had  kept  up  well,  and  had  now 
shifted  a  point  to  the  east,  so  that  the  yachts,  with  their  great 
ballooners,  were  rnnning  pretty  well  before  the  wind.  The  lazy 
abandonment  of  the  day  became  more  complete  than  ever.  Care- 
less talk  and  laughter;  an  easy  curiosity  about  the  fortunes  of 
the  race ;  tea  in  the  saloon,  with  the  making  up  of  two  bouquets 
of  white  roses,  sweet -peas,  fuclisias,  and  ferns  —  the  day  passed 
lightly  and  swiftly  enough.  It  was  a  summer  day,  full  of  pretty 
tritles.  Macleod,  surrendering  to  the  fascination,  began  to  won- 
der Avhat  life  would  be  if  it  were  all  a  show  of  June  colors  and  a 
sound  of  dreamy  musio  :  for  one  thing,  he  could  not  imagine  this 
sensitive,  beautiful,  pale,  line  creature  otherwise  than  as  sur- 
rounded by  an  atmosphere  of  delicate  attentions  and  pretty 
speeclies,  and  sweet,  low  laughter. 

They  got  into  their  special  train  again  at  Gravesend,  and  were 
whirled  up  to  London.  At  Charing  Cross  he  bade  good-bye  to 
Miss  White,  who  was  driven  off  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ross  along  with 
their  other  guest.  In  the  light  of  the  clear  June  evening  he 
walked  rather  absently  up  to  his  rooms. 

There  was  a  letter  lying  on  the  table.  He  seized  it  and 
opened  it  with  gladness.  It  was  from  his  cousin  Janet,  and  the 
mere  sight  of  it  seemed  to  revive  him  like  a  gust  of  keen  wind 
from  the  sea.  What  had  she  to  say  ?  About  the  grumblings  of 
Donald,  who  seemed  to  have  no  more  pride  in  his  pipes,  now  the 
master  was  gone?  About  the  anxiety  of  his  mother  over  the  re- 
ports of  the  keepers  ?  About  the  upsetting  of  a  dog-cart  on  the 
road  to  Lochbuy  ?  He  had  half  resolved  to  go  to  the  theatre 
again  that  evening — getting,  if  possible,  into  some  corner  where 
he  might  pursue  his  profound  psychological  investigations  unseen 
— but  now  he  thought  he  would  not  go.  He  would  spend  the 
evenin<T  in  writinp-  a  long  letter  to  his  cousin,  telling  her  and  the 
mother  about  all  the  beautiful,  fine,  gay,  summer  life  he  had  seen 
in  London — so  different  from  any  thing  they  could  have  seen  in 
Fort  William,  or  Inverness,  or  even  in  Edinburgh.  After  dinner 
he  sat  down  to  this  agreeable  task.  What  had  he  to  write  about 
except  brilliant  rooms,  and  beautiful  flowers,  and  costumes  such 
as  would  have  made  Janet's  eyes  wide — of  all  the  delicate  luxu- 
ries of  life,  and  happy  idleness,  and  the  careless  enjoyment  of 


60  MACLEOD    OK    DARE. 

people  whose  only  thought  was  about  a  new  pleasure  ?  lie  gave 
a  rainnte  description  of  all  the  places  he  had  been  to  see — except 
the  tlieatre.  lie  mentioned  the  names  of  the  people  who  had 
been  kind  to  him ;  but  he  said  nothing  about  Gertrude  AVhite. 

Not  that  she  was  altogether  absent  from  his  thouglits.  Some- 
times his  fancy  tied  away  from  the  sheet  of  paper  before  him, 
and  saw  strange  things.  Was  this  Fionaghal  the  Fair  Stranger 
— this  maiden  who  had  come  over  the  seas  to  the  dark  shores  of 
the  isles — this  king's  daughter  clad  in  white,  with  her  yellow  hair 
down  to  her  waist,  and  bands  of  gold  on  her  wrists?  And  what 
does  she  sino;  to  the  hisliins;  waves  but  songs  of  hio-h  courage, 
and  triumph,  and  welcome  to  her  brave  lover  coming  home  with 
plunder  through  the  battling  seas?  Her  lips  arc  parted  with  her 
singing,  but  her  glance  is  bold  and  keen :  she  has  the  spirit  of  a 
king's  daughter,  let  her  come  from  whence  she  may. 

Or  is  Fionaghal  the  Fair  Stranger  this  poorly  dressed  lass  who 
boils  the  potatoes  over  the  rude  peat  fire,  and  croons  her  songs 
of  suffering  and  of  the  cruel  drowning  in  the  seas,  so  that  from 
hut  to  hut  they  carry  her  songs,  and  the  old  wives'  tears  start 
afresh  to  think  of  their  bmve  sons  lost  years  and  years  ago? 

Neither  Fionaghal  is  she — this  beautiful,  pale  woman,  with  her 
sweet,  modern  English  speech,  and  her  delicate,  sensitive  ways, 
and  her  hand  that  might  be  crushed  like  a  rose  leaf.  There  is  a 
shimmer  of  summer  around  her ;  flowers  lie  in  her  lap ;  tender 
observances  encompass  and  shelter  her.  Not  for  her  the  biting 
winds  of  the  northern  seas,  but  rather  the  soft  luxurious  idleness 
of  placid  waters,  and  blue  skies,  and  shadowy  shores  .  .  .  Rose 
Leaf!  Rose  Leaf!  lohat  faint  wind  will  carry  you  away  to  the 
south? 


CHAFTER  VII. 

THE    DUCHESS    OF    DEVONSHIRE. 


Late  one  night  a  carefully  dressed  elderly  gentleman  applied 
his  latch-key  to  the  door  of  a  house  in  Bury  Street,  St.  James's, 
and  was  about  to  enter  without  any  great  circumspection,  when 
he  was  suddenly  met  by  a  white  phantom,  which  threw  him  off 
his  legs,  and  dashed  outward  into  the  street.  The  language  that 
the  elderly  gentleman  used,  as  he  picked  himself  up,  need  not  be 


THE  DUCHESS  OF  DEVONSHIRE.  CI 

repeated  here.  Siifricc  it  to  say  that  the  white  phantom  was  the 
dotr  Oscar,  who  had  been  shut  in  a  minute  before  by  his  master, 
;;iiil  who  now,  after  one  or  twu  preliminary  dashes  up  and  down 
tiie  street,  very  soon  perceived  the  tall  figure  of  Macleod,  and 
made  joyfully  after  him.  But  Oscar  knew  that  he  had  acted 
wrongly,  and  was  ashamed  to  show  himself;  so  he  quietly  slunk 
along  at  his  master's  heels.  The  consequence  of  this  was  that 
the  few  loiterers  about  beheld  the  very  unusual  spectacle  of  a  tall 
young  gentleman  walking  down  Bury  Street  and  into  King 
Street,  dressed  in  full  Highland  costume,  and  followed  by  a  wliite- 
and- lemon  collie.  No  other  person  going  to  the  Caledonian 
fancy-dress  ball  was  so  attended. 

Macleod  made  his  way  through  the  carriages,  crossed  tlie  pave- 
ment, and  entered  the  passage.  Then  ho  heard  some  scuffling 
behind,  and  he  turned. 

"  Let  alone  my  dog,  you  fellow !"  said  he,  making  a  step  for- 
ward, for  the  man  had  got  liold  of  Oscar  by  the  head,  and  was 
hauling  him  out. 

"  Is  it  your  dog,  sir  ?"  said  he. 

Oscar  himself  answered  by  wrestling  himself  free  and  taking- 
refuge  by  his  master's  legs,  though  lie  still  looked  guilty. 

"  Yes,  he  is  my  dog ;  and  a  nice  fix  he  has  got  me  into,"  said 
Macleod,  standing  aside  to  let  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa  pass 
by  in  her  resplendent  costume.  "  I  suppose  I  must  walk  home 
with  him  again.     Oscar,  Oscar,  how  dare  you  !" 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  said   a  juvenile  voice   behind  him,  "if 

Mr. will  let  me,  I  will  take  the  dog.     I  know  where  to  tie 

him  up." 

Macleod  turned. 

"  Co  an  so  r  said  he,  looking  down  at  the  chubby -faced  boy 
in  the  kilts,  who  had  his  pipes  under  his  arm,  "  Don't  you  know 
the  Gaelic?" 

"  I  am  only  learning,"  said  the  young  musician.  "  Will  I  take 
the  dog,  sir  ?" 

"  March  along,  then,  Phiobaire  bhig  !"  Macleod  said.  "  lie  will 
follow  me,  if  he  will  not  follow  you." 

Little  Piper  turned  aside  into  a  large  hall  which  had  been 
transformed  into  a  sort  of  waiting-room;  and  here  Macleod 
found  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  considerable  number  of  chil- 
dren, half  of  them  girls,  half  of  them  boys,  all  dressed  in  tartan, 


62  MACLEOD    OF    PAKE. 

and  seated  on  tlie  forms  along  the  walls.  The  children,  wlio 
were  half  asleep  at  tliis  time  of  the  night,  woke  up  with  sudden 
interest  at  sight  of  the  beautiful  collie  ;  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment Little  Piper  explained  to  the  gentleman  who  was  in  charge 
of  these  young  ones  that  the  dog  liad  to  be  tied  up  somewhere, 
and  that  a  small  adjoining  room  would  answer  that  purpose. 
The  proposal  was  most   courteously  entertained.     Macleod,  Mr. 

,  and  Little  Piper  walked  along  to  this  side  room,  and  there 

Oscar  was  properly  secured. 

"And  I  will  get  liim  some  water,  sir,  if  he  wants  it,"  said  the 
boy  in  the  kilts. 

"Very  well,"  Macleod  said.  "And  I  will  give  you  my  thanks 
for  it;  for  that  is  all  that  a  Highlander,  and  especially  a  piper, 
expects  for  a  kindness.  And  I  hope  you  will  learn  the  Gaelic 
soon,  my  boy.  And  do  you  know  '  Cumhadh  na  Cloinne  ?'  No, 
it  is  too  difficult  for  you  ;  but  I  think  if  I  had  the  chanter  be- 
tween my  fingers  myself,  I  could  let  you  hear  '  Cumhadh  na 
Cloinne.'" 

"I  am  sure  John  Maclean  can  play  it,"  said  the  small  piper. 

"  Who  is  he  ?" 

The  gentleman  in  charge  of  the  youngsters  explained  that 
John  Maclean  was  the  eldest  of  the  juvenile  pipers,  five  others  of 
■whom  v/ere  in  attendance. 

"  I  think,"  said  Macleod,  "  that  I  am  coming  down  in  a  little 
time  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your  young  pipers,  if  you  will 
let  me." 

He  passed  up  tlie  broad  staircase  and  into  the  empty  supper- 
room,  from  which  a  number  of  entrances  showed  him  the  strange 
scene  being  enacted  in  the  larger  hall.  Who  were  these  people 
who  were  moving  to  the  sound  of  rapid  music?  A  clown  in  a 
silken  dress  of  many  colors,  with  bells  to  Ins  cap  and  wrists,  stood 
at  one  of  the  doors.  Macleod  became  his  fellow  -  spectator  of 
what  was  going  forward.  A  beautiful  Tyrolienne,  in  a  dress  of 
black,  silver,  and  velvet,  with  her  yellow  hair  hanging  in  two 
plaits  down  her  back,  passed  into  the  room,  accompanied  by 
Charles  the  First  in  a  larjje  wig  and  cloak ;  and  the  next  moment 
they  were  whirling  along  in  the  waltz,  coming  into  innumerable 
collisions  with  all  the  celebrated  folk  Avho  ever  lived  in  history. 
And  who  were  these  gentlemen  in  the  scarlet  collars  and  cuffs, 
who  but  for  these  adornments  would  liave  been  in  ordinary  even- 


THE    DUCHESS    OF    DEVONSIilRK.  63 

ing  dress?  lie  made  bold  to  ask  the  friendly  clown,  who  was  star- 
ing in  a  pensive  manner  at  the  rushing  couples. 

"They  call  it  the  Vv'^iiidsor  uniform,"  said  the  clown,  "/think 
it  mean.  I  sha'u't  come  in  a  fancy  dress  again,  if  stitching  on  a 
red  collar  will  do." 

At  this  moment  the  waltz  came  to  an  end,  and  the  people  be- 
gan to  walk  up  and  down  the  spacious  apartment.  Macleod  en- 
tered the  throng  to  look  about  him.  And  soon  he  perceived,  in 
one  of  the  little  stands  at  the  side  of  the  hall,  the  noble  lady 
who  had  asked  him  to  go  to  this  assembly,  and  forthwith  he 
made  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  her.  He  was  most  gracious- 
ly received. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret,  Lady  . ?"  said  he.     "  You  know 

the  children  belonging  to  the  charity;  they  are  all  below,  and 
they  are  sitting  doing  nothing,  and  they  arc  all  very  tired  and 
half  asleep.     It  is  a  shame  to  keep  them  there — " 

"  But  the  Prince  hasn't  come  yet ;  and  they  must  be  marched 
round  :  they  show  that  we  are  not  making  fools  of  ourselves  for 
nothing." 

A  sharper  person  than  Macleod  might  have  got  in  a  pretty 
compliment  here ;  for  this  lady  was  charmingly  dressed  as  Flora 
Macdonald  ;  but  he  merely  said : 

"  Very  well ;  perhaps  it  is  necessary.  But  I  think  I  can  get 
them  some  amusement,  if  you  will  only  keep  the  director  of  them, 

that  is,  Mr. ,  out  of  the  way.     Now  shall  I  send  liim  to  you  ? 

Will  you  talk  to  him  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?" 

"  I  want  to  give  them  a  dance.  Why  shoidd  you  have  all  the 
dancing  up  here  ?" 

"  Mind,  I  am  not  responsible.  What  sliall  I  talk  to  him 
about?" 

Macleod  considered  for  a  moment. 

"  Tell  him  that  I  will  take  the  whole  of  tlie  girls  and  boys  to 
the  Crystal  Palace  for  a  day,  if  it  is  permissible ;  and  ask  him 
what  it  will  cost,  and  all  about  the  arrangements." 

"  Seriously  ?" 

"Yes.  Why  not?  They  can  have  a  fine  run  in  the  grounds, 
and  six  pipers  to  play  for  them.  I  will  ask  them  now  whether 
they  will  go." 

He  left  and  went  down-stairs.     lie  bad  seen  but  few  people 


C4  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 

in  the  hall  above  whom  he  knew.  He  was  not  fond  of  dancing, 
though  he  knew  the  elaborate  variations  of  the  reel.  And  here 
was  a  bit  of  practical  aimiseuient. 

"  Oh,  Mr. ,"  said  he,  with  great  seriousness,  "  I  am  desired 

by  Lady  to  say  that  she  would  like  to  see  you  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two.  She  wishes  to  ask  you  some  questions  about  your 
young  people." 

"The  Prince  may  come  at  any  moment,"  said  Mr. ,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  He  won't  be  in  such  a  hurry  as  all  that,  surely." 

So  the  worthy  man  went  up-stairs ;  and  the  moment  he  was 
gone  Macleod  shut  the  door. 

"Now,  you  piper  boys!"  he  called  aloud,  "get  up  and  play  us 
a  reel.  We  are  going  to  have  a  dance.  You  are  all  asleep,  I  be- 
lieve. Come,  girls,  stand  up.  You  that  know  the  reel,  you  will 
keep  to  this  end.  Boys,  come  out.  You  that  can  dance  a  reel, 
come  to  this  end ;  the  others  will  soon  pick  it  up.  Now,  piper 
boys,  have  you  got  the  steam  up  ?  ^Vhat  can  you  give  us,  now  ? 
*  Monymusk  V  or  the  '  Marquis  of  lluntley's  Fling  V  or  '  Miss  John- 
ston?' Nay,  stay  a  bit.  Don't  you  know  'Mrs.  Macleod  of 
Raasay  V  " 

"Yes,"  "Yes,"  "Yes,"  "Yes,"  "Yes,"  "Yes,"  came  from  the 
six  pipers,  all  standing  in  a  row,  with  the  drones  over  their  shoul- 
ders and  the  chanters  in  their  fingers. 

"  Very  well,  then— off  you  go !  Now,  boys  and  girls,  arc  you 
all  ready  ?     Pipers,  '  Mrs.  Macleod  of  Raasay !'  " 

For  a  second  there  was  a  confused  roaring  on  the  long  drones ; 
then  the  shrill  chanters  broke  clear  away  into  the  wild  reel ;  and 
presently  the  boys  and  girls,  who  were  at  first  laughingly  shy 
and  embarrassed,  began  to  make  such  imitations  of  the  reel  fig- 
ure, which  they  had  seen  often  enough,  as  led  to  a  vast  amount 
of  scrambling  and  jollity,  if  it  was  not  particularly  accurate.  The 
most  timid  of  the  young  ones  soon  picked  up  courage.  Here 
and  there  one  of  the  older  boys  gavQ  a  whoop  that  would  have 
done  justice  to  a  wedding  dance  in  a  Highland  barn. 

"Put  your  lungs  into  it,  pipers!"  Macleod  cried  out,  "Well 
played,  boys  !     You  are  fit  to  play  before  a  prince !" 

The  round  cheeks  of  the  boys  were  red  with  their  blowing ; 
they  tapped  their  toes  on  the  ground  as  proudly  as  if  every  one 
of  them  was  a  MacCruimin ;  the  wild  noise  in  this  big,  empty 


THE  DUCHESS  OF  DEVONSHIRE.  05 

hall  grew  more  furious  than  ever — when  suddenly  there  was  an 
awful  silence.  The  pipers  whipped  the  chanters  from  their 
months;  the  children,  suddenly  stopping  in  their  merriment,  cast 
one  awestruck  glance  toward  the  door,  and  then  slunk  back  to 

their  seats.     They  had  observed  not  only  Mr. ,  but  also  the 

Prince  himself.  Macleod  was  left  standing  alone  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor. 

"  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?"  said  his  Royal  Highness,  with  a  smile. 

Macleod  bowed  low. 

"  Lady  told  me  what  you  were   about.     I  thought  wc 

could  have  had  a  peep  unobserved,  or  wc  should  not  have  broken 
in  on  the  romp  of  the  children." 

"  I  think  your  Royal  Highness  could  make  amends  for  that," 
said  Macleod. 

There  was  an  inquiring  glance. 

"  If  your  Royal  Highness  would  ask  some  one  to  see  that  each 
of  the  children  has  an  orange,  and  a  tart,  and  a  shilling,  it  would 
be  some  compensation  to  them  for  being  kept  up  so  late." 

"I  think  that  might  be  done,"  said  the  Prince,  as  he  turned 
to  leave.  "xVnd  I  am  glad  to  have  made  your  acquaintance, 
althouo;h  in — " 

"  In  the  character  of  a  dancing-master,"  said  Macleod,  o-ravelv. 

After  having  once  more  visited  Oscar,  in  the  company  of  Phio- 
baire  bliig,  Macleod  went  up  again  to  the  brilliantly  lit  hall ;  an<l 
here  he  found  that  a  further  number  of  his  friends  had  arrived. 
Among  them  was  voung  Ogilvie,  in  the  tartan  of  the  Ninetv- 
third  Highlanders;  and  very  smart  indeed  the  boy-oflicer  looked 
in  his  uniform.  Mrs.  Ross  was  here  too;  and  she  was  busy  in 
assisting  to  get  up  the  Plighland  quadrille.  When  she  asked 
Macleod  if  he  would  join  in  it,  he  answered  by  asking  her  to  be 
his  partner,  as  he  would  be  ashamed  to  display  his  ignorance  be- 
fore an  absolute  stranger.  Mrs.  Ross  most  kindly  undertook  to 
pilot  him  through  the  not  elaborate  intricacies  of  the  dance;  and 
they  were  fortunate  in  having  the  set  made  up  entirely  of  their 
own  friends. 

Then  the  procession  of  the  children  took  place ;  and  the  fan- 
tastically dressed  crowd  formed  a  lane  to  let  the  homely -clad 
lads  and  lasses  pass  along,  with  the  six  small  pipers  proudly  play- 
ing a  march  at  their  head. 

He  stopped  the  last  of  the  children  for  a  second. 


06  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"llavc  you  got  a  tart,  and  an  orange,  and  a  shilling?'" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  have  got  tlic  word  of  a  prince  for  it,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  went  out  of  tlie  room  ;  "and  they  shall  not  go  home  with 
empty  pockets." 

As  he  was  coming  up  the  staircase  again  to  the  ball-room  he 
was  preceded  by  two  figures  that  were  calculated  to  attract  any 
one's  notice  by  the  picturesqueness  of  their  costume.  The  one 
stranger  was  apparently  an  old  man,  who  was  dressed  in  a  Floren- 
tine costume  of  tlie  fourteenth  century — a  cloak  of  sombre  red, 
with  a  flat  cap  of  black  velvet,  one  long  tail  of  which  was  thrown 
over  the  left  shoulder  and  hung  down  behind.  A  silver  collar 
hung  from  his  neck  across  his  breast :  other  ornament  there  was 
none.  His  companion,  however,  drew  all  eyes  toward  her  as  the 
two  passed  into  the  ball-room.  She  was  dressed  in  imitation  of 
Gainsborough's  portrait  of  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire ;  and  her 
symmetrical  figure  and  well -poised  head  admirably  suited  the 
long-trained  costume  of  blue  satin,  with  its  fichu  of  white  muslin, 
the  bold,  coquettish  hat  and  feathers,  and  the  powdered  puffs  and 
curls  that  descended  to  her  shoulders.  She  had  a  gay  air  with 
lier,  too.  She  bore  her  head  proudly.  The  patches  on  her  cheek 
seemed  not  lialf  so  black  as  the  blackness  of  her  eyes,  so  full  of 
a  dark,  mischievous  light  were  they ;  and  the  redness  of  the  lips 
• — a  trifle  artificial,  no  doubt — as  she  smiled  seemed  to  add  to  the 
glittering  whiteness  of  her  teeth.  The  proud,  laughing,  gay  co- 
quette:  no  wonder  all  eyes  were  for  a  moment  turned  to  her,  in 
envy  or  in  admiration. 

Macleod,  following  these  two,  and  finding  that  his  old  compan- 
ion, the  pensive  clown  in  cap  and  bells,  was  still  at  his  post  of 
observation  at  the  door,  remained  tliere  also  for  a  minute  or  two, 
and  noticed  that  among  the  first  to  recognize  the  two  strangers 
was  youiig  Ogilvie,  who,  with  laughing  surprise  in  his  face,  came 
forward  to  shake  hands  with  tlicm.  Then  there  was  some  farther 
speech  ;  the  band  began  to  play  a  gentle  and  melodious  waltz ; 
the  middle  of  the  room  cleared  somewhat ;  and  presently  her 
Grace  of  Devonshire  was  whirled  away  by  the  young  Highland 
officer,  lier  broad -brimmed  hat  rather  ovcrshadovving  him,  not- 
withstanding the  pronounced  colors  of  his  plaid.  Macleod  could 
not  help  following  this  couple  with  his  eyes  whithersoever  they 
went.     In  any  part  of  the  fapidly  moving  crowd  he  could  always 


THE    PUCIIEGS    OF    DEVONSIIIKE.  G7 

make  out  that  one  figure;  and  once  or  twice  as  they  passed  him 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  biiUiant  beauty,  with  her  powdered 
hair,  and  her  Hashing  bright  eyes,  and  her  merry  lips,  regarded 
him  for  an  instant ;  and  tlien  he  could  have  imagined  that  in  a 
bv-gonc  century — 
"  "Sir  Keith  Maclcod,  I  think?" 

The  old  gentleman  with  the  grave  and  scliolarly  cap  of  black 
velvet  and  the  long  cloak  of  sober  red  held  out  his  hand.  The 
folds  of  the  velvet  hanging  down  from  the  cap  rather  shadowed 
his  face:  but  all  the  same  Macleod  instantlv  recognized  him — 
fixing  the  recognition  by  means  of  the  gold  spectacles. 

"  Mr.  AVhitel"  said  he. 

"  I  am  more  disguised  than  you  are,"  the  old  gentleman  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  It  is  a  foolish  notion  of  my  daughter's  ;  but  she 
would  have  nic  come." 

His  daughter!  Maclcod  turned  in  a  bewildered  way  to  that 
gay  crowd  under  the  brilliant  lights. 

"  AVas  that  Miss  White  ?"  said  he. 

"The  Duchess  of  Devonshire.  Didn't  you  recognize  her?  I 
am  afraid  she  will  be  very  tired  to-morrow  ;  but  she  would  come." 

lie  caught  sight  of  her  again  —  that  woman,  with  the  dark 
eyes  full  of  fire,  and  the  dashing  air,  and  the  audacious  smile ! 
He  could  have  believed  this  old  man  to  be  mad.  O;  was  he  only 
the  father  of  a  witch,  of  an  illusive  ignis  fatmis,  of  some  mock- 
ing Ariel  darting  into  a  dozen  shapes  to  make  fools  of  the  poor 
simple  souls  of  earth  ? 

"  No,"  he  stammered,  "  I — I  did  not  recognize  her.  I  thought 
the  lady  who  came  with  you  had  intensely  dark  eyes." 

"  She  is  said  to  be  very  clever  in  making  up,"  her  father 
said,  coolly  and  scntentiously.  "  It  is  a  part  of  her  art  that  is 
not  to  be  despised.  It  is  quite  as  important  as  a  gesture  or  a 
tone  of  voice  in  creating  the  illusion  at  which  she  aims.  I  do 
not  know  whether  actresses,  as  a  rule,  are  careless  about  it,  or 
only  clumsy ;  but  they  rarely  succeed  in  making  their  appearance 
homogeneous.  A  trifle  too  much  here,  a  trifle  too  little  there, 
and  the  illusion  is  spoiled.  Then  you  see  a  painted  woman — 
not  the  character  she  is  presenting.  Did  you  observe  my  daugh- 
ter's eyebrows  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not,"  said  Macleod,  humbly. 

"  Here  she  comes.     Look  at  them."* 


08  MAC-i-EOD    OF    DARE. 

But  liow  could  be  look  at  her  eyebrows,  or  at  any  trick  of  mak- 
ing lip,  wben  the  whole  face,  with  its  new  excitement  of  color,  its 
parted  lips  and  lambent  eyes,  was  throwing  its  fascination  upon 
him?  She  came  forward  laughing,  and  yet  with  a  certain  shy- 
ness.    He  would  fain  have  turned  away. 

The  Ilighlnndcrs  are  superstitious.  Did  he  fear  being  be- 
witched? Or  what  was  it  that  threw  a  certain  coldness  over  his 
manner?  Tiic  fact  of  her  having  danced  with  voung  Ogilvie  ? 
Or  the  ugly  reference  made  by  lier  father  to  lier  eyebrows?  Ue 
had  greatly  admired  this  painted  stranger  when  he  thought  she 
was  a  stranger;  he  seemed  less  to  admire  the  artistic  make-up  of 
Miss  Gertrude  AVhite. 

The  merry  Ducliess,  playing  her  part  admirably,  charmed  all 
eyes  but  his  ;  and  yet  she  was  so  kind  as  to  devote  herself  to 
lier  father  and  him,  refusing  invitations  to  dance,  and  chatting  to 
them — with  those  brilliant  lips  smiling — about  the  various  feat- 
ures of  the  gay  scene  before  them.  Macleod  avoided  looking  at 
her  face. 

"  What  a  bonny  boy  your  friend  Mr.  Ogilvie  is !"  said  she, 
glancing  across  the  room. 

He  did  not  answer. 

"JJut  he  does  not  look  much  of  a  soldier,"  she  continued.  "I 
don't  think  I  should  be  afraid  of  him  if  I  were  a  man." 

He  answered,  somewhat  distantly  : 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  judge  that  way,  especially  of  any  one  of 
Highland  blood.  If  there  is  fighting  in  his  blood,  he  will  fight 
when  the  proper  time  comes.  And  we  have  a  good  Gaelic  say- 
ing— it  has  a  great  deal  of  meaning  in  it,  that  saying — '  You  do 
nol  know  what  sword  is  in  the  scabbard  until  it  is  drawn.''  " 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  proverb  ?"  she  asked ;  and  for  a 
second  her  eyes  met  his;  but  she  immediately  withdrew  them, 
startled  by  the  cold  austerity  of  his  look. 

" '  You,  do  not  know  what  sioord  is  in  the  scabbard  until  it  is 
drawn^  "  said  he,  carelessly.  "  There  is  a  good  deal  of  meaning 
in  it." 


LAUUKL    COTTAGE.  GO 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LAUREL     COTTAGE. 

A  SMALL,  quaint,  old-fashioned  house  in  South  Bank,  Regent's 
Park;  two  maidens  in  white  in  the  open  veranda;  around  them 
the  abundant  foHage  of  June,  unrullled  by  any  breeze ;  and  down 
at  the  foot  of  tlie  steep  garden  the  still  canal,  its  surface  mirror- 
ing the  soft  translucent  greens  of  the  trees  and  bushes  above,  and 
the  gaudier  colors  of  a  barge  lying  moored  on  the  northern  side. 
The  elder  of  the  two  girls  is  seated  in  a  rocking-chair ;  she  ap- 
pears to  have  been  reading,  for  her  right  hand,  hanging  down, 
still  holds  a  thin  MS.  book  covered  with  coarse  brown  paper. 
The  younger  is  lying  at  her  feet,  with  her  head  thrown  back  in 
her  sister's  lap,  and  her  face  turned  up  to  the  clear  June  skies. 
There  are  some  roses  about  this  veranda,  and  the  still  air  is  sweet 
with  them. 

"And  of  all  the  parts  you  ever  played  in,"  she  says,  "  which 
one  did  you  like  the  best,  Gerty  ?" 

"  This  one,"  is  the  gentle  answer. 

"What  one?" 

"Being  at  home  with  you  and  papa,  and  having  no  bother  at 
all,  and  nothing  to  think  of." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  says  the  other,  with  the  brutal  frankness 
of  thirteen.  "  You  couldn't  live  without  the  theatre,  Gerty — and 
the  newspapers  talking  about  you-^and  people  praising  you — 
and  bouquets — " 

"  Couldn't  I  ?"  says  Miss  Wliite,  with  a  smile,  as  she  gently  lays 
her  hand  on  her  sister's  curls, 

"  No,"  continues  the  wise  young  lady.  "And  besides,  this  pret- 
ty, quiet  life  would  not  last.  You  would  have  to  give  up  play- 
ing that  part.  Papa  is  getting  very  old  now ;  and  he  often  talks 
about  what  may  happen  to  us.  And  you  know,  Gerty,  that 
though  it  is  very  nice  for  sisters  to  say  they  v.'ill  never  and  never 
leave  each  other,  it  doesn't  come  off,  does  it?  There  is  only  one 
thing  I  see  for  you — and  that  is  to  get  married," 

"  Indeed !" 


70  MACLEOD    OF    UAKE. 

It  is  Ccusy  to  ftMice  with  a  cliild's  prattle.  She  mij^lit  have 
amused  herself  by  encouraging  this  chatterbox  to  go  througli 
the  list  of  their  acquaintances,  and  pick  out  a  goodly  choice  of 
suitors.  She  might  have  encouraged  her  to  give  expression  to 
her  profound  views  of  the  chances  and  troubles  of  life,  and  the 
safeguards  that  timid  maidens  may  seek.  But  she  suddenly 
said,  in  a  highly  matter-of-fact  manner : 

"What  you  say  is  quite  true,  Carry,  and  I've  thought  of  it 
several  times.  It  is  a  very  bad  thing  for  an  actress  to  be  left 
without  a  father  or  husband,  or  brother,  as  her  ostensible  guar- 
dian. People  are  always  glad  to  hear  stories — and  to  make  them 
— about  actresses.     You  would  be  no  good  at  all,  Carry — " 

"Very  well,  then,"  the  younger  sister  said,  promptly,  "you've 
got  to  get  married.  x\nd  to  a  rich  man,  too ;  who  will  buy  you 
a  theatre,  and  let  you  do  what  you  like  in  it." 

Miss  Gertrude  White,  whatever  she  may  have  thought  of  this 
speech,  was  bound  to  rebuke  the  shockingly  mercenary  ring  of  it. 

"  For  shame,  Carry  !  Do  you  think  people  marry  from  such 
motives  as  that?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carry  ;  but  she  had,  at  least,  guessed. 

"  I  should  like  my  husband  to  have  money,  certainly,"  Miss 
White  said,  frankly  ;  and  here  she  flung  the  MS.  book  from  her 
on  to  a  neighboring  chair.  "  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  refuse 
parts  that  did  not  suit  me.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  take  just 
such  engagements  as  I  chose.  I  should  like  to  go  to  Paris  for  a 
whole  year,  and  study  hard — " 

"  Your  husband  might  not  wish  ^u  to  remain  an  actress," 
said  Miss  Carry. 

"Then  he  would  never  be  my  husband,"  the  elder  sister  said, 
with  decision.  "  I  have  not  worked  hard  for  nothing.  Just 
when  I  begin  to  think  I  can  do  something — when  I  think  I  can 
get  beyond  those  coquettish,  drawing-room,  simpering  parts  that 
l)eop]e  run  after  now — just  when  the  very  name  of  Mrs.  Siddons, 
or  Rachel,  or  any  of  the  great  actresses  makes  my  heart  jump — 
when  I  have  ambition,  and  a  fair  chance,  and  all  that — do  you 
think  I  am  to  give  the  whole  thing  up,  and  sink  quietly  into  the 
position  of  Mrs.  Brow-n  or  Mrs.  Smith,  who  is  a  very  nice  lady, 
no  doubt,  and  very  respectable,  and  lives  a  quiet  and  orderly  life, 
with  no  greater  excitement  thnn  scheming  to  get  big  people  to 
go  to  her  garden  parties?" 


LAUKEL    COTTAGK.  71 

She  certainly  seemed  very  clear  on  that  point. 

"  I  don't  see  that  men  are  so  ready  to  give  up  their  profession, 
when  they  marry,  in  order  to  devote  themselves  to  domestic  life, 
even  when  they  have  plenty  of  money.  Why  should  all  the  sac- 
rifice be  on  the  side  of  the  woman  ?  But  I  know  if  I  have  to 
choose  between  my  art  and  a  husband,  I  shall  continue  to  do 
without  a  husband." 

Miss  Carry  had  risen,  and  put  one  arm  round  her  sister's  neck, 
while  with  the  other  she  stroked  the  soft  brown  hair  over  the 
smooth  forehead. 

"And  it  shall  not  be  taken  away  from  its  pretty  theatre,  it 
sha'n't !"  said  she,  i)ettingly ;  "  and  it  shall  not  be  asked  to  go 
away  with  any  great  ugly  Blue-beard,  and  be  shut  up  in  a  lonely 
house — " 

**  Go  away,  Carry,"  said  she,  releasing  herself.  "  I  wonder  why 
you  began  talking  such  nonsense.  What  do  you  know  about  all 
those  things  V 

"Oh!  very  well,"  said  the  child,  turning  away  with  a  pout; 
and  she  pulled  a  rose  and  began  to  take  its  petals  off,  one  by  one, 
with  her  lips.  "  Perhaps  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  I  haven't  stud- 
ied vour  manoeuvres  on  the  stage,  Miss  Gertrude  White.  Per- 
haps  I  never  saw  the  newspapers  declaring  that  it  was  all  so  very 
natural  and  life-like."  She  flung  two  or  three  rose  petals  at  her 
sister.  "  I  believe  you're  the  biggest  flirt  that  ever  lived,  Gerty. 
You  could  make  any  man  you  liked  marry  you  in  ten  minutes," 

"  I  wish  I  could  manage  to  have  certain  school-girls  whipped 
and  sent  to  bed." 

At  this  moment  there  appeared  at  the  open  French  window  an 
elderly  woman  of  Flemish  features  and  extraordinary  breadth  of 
bust. 

"  Shall  I  put  dressing  in  the  salad,  miss?"  she  said,  with  scarce- 
ly any  trace  of  foreign  accent. 

"Not  yet,  Marie,"  said  Miss  White.  "I  will  make  the  dress- 
ing first.  Bring  me  a  large  plate,  and  the  cruet-stand,  and  a  spoon 
and  fork,  and  some  salt." 

Now  Avhen  these  things  had  been  brought,  and  when  Miss 
White  had  set  about  preparing  this  salad  dressing  in  a  highly 
scientific  manner,  a  strange  thing  occurred.  Her  sister  seemed 
to  have  been  attacked  by  a  sudden  fit  of  madness.  She  had 
caught  up  a  light  shawl,  wliieh  she  extended  from  hand  to  hand, 


72  MACLEOD    OF    UAIvE. 

as  if  slic  were  dancing  witli  some  one,  and  then  she  proceeded  to 
execute  a  slow  waltz  in  this  circumscribed  space,  humming  the 
improvised  music  in  a  mystical  and  rhythmical  manner.  And 
what  were  these  dark  utterances  that  the  inspired  one  gave  forth, 
as  she  glanced  from  time  to  time  at  her  sister  and  the  plate  ? 

"OA,  a  H'lfjhhmd  lad  my  love  teas  born — and  the  Lowland  laws 
he  held  in  scorn — " 

"  Carry,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself !"  said  the  other,  flush- 
ing angrily. 

Carry  flung  her  imaginary  partner  aside. 

"  There  is  no  use  making  any  pretence,''  said  she,  sharply. 
"  You  know  quite  well  why  you  are  making  that  salad  dressing." 

"Did  you  never  see  me  make  salad  dressing  before?"  said  the 
other,  quite  as  sharply, 

"  You  know  it  is  simply  because  Sir  Keith  Macleod  is  coming 
to  lunch.  I  forgot  all  about  it.  Oh,  and  that's  why  you  had 
the  clean  curtains  put  up  yesterday  !" 

What  else  had  this  precocious  brain  ferreted  out  ? 

"  Yes,  and  that's  why  you  bought  papa  a  new  neck-tie,"  con- 
tinued the  tormentor;  and  then  she  added,  triumphantly,  ^^£ut 
he  hasnH  2nit  it  on  this  viorning — ha,  Gertyf 

A  calm  and  dignified  silence  is  the  best  answer  to  the  fiendish- 
ness  of  thirteen.  Miss  White  went  on  with  the  making  of  the 
salad  dressing.  She  was  considered  very  clever  at  it.  Her  fa- 
ther had  taught  her ;  but  he  never  had  the  patience  to  carry  out 
his  own  precepts.  Besides,  brute  force  is  not  wanted  for  the 
work:  what  you  want  is  the  self-denying  assiduity  and  the  dex- 
terous light-handedness  of  a  woman. 

A  smart  young  maid-servant,  very  trimly  dressed,  made  her  ap- 
pearance. 

"Sir  Keith  Macleod,  miss,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  Gerty,  you're  caught !"  muttered  the  fiend. 

But  Miss  White  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  The  small  white 
fingers  plied  the  fork  Avithout  a  tremor. 

"Ask  him  to  step  this  way,  please,"  she  said. 

And  then  the  subtle  imagination  of  this  demon  of  thirteen 
jumped  to  another  conclusion. 

"Oh,  Gerty,  you  want  to  show  him  that  you  are  a  good  house- 
keeper— that  you  can  make  salad — " 

But  the  imp  was  silenced  by  the  appearance  of  Macleod  him- 


LAUREL    COTTAGE.  73 

self.  lie  looked  tall  as  he  came  througli  the  small  drawing-room. 
When  ho  came  out  on  to  the  balcony  the  languid  air  of  the  place 
seemed  to  acquire  a  fresh  and  brisk  vitality :  he  had  a  bright 
smile  and  a  resonant  voice. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  you  a  little  present,  Miss 
White — no,  it  is  a  large  present — that  reached  me  this  morning," 
said  he.  "  I  want  you  to  sec  one  of  our  Highland  salmon.  He 
is  a  splendid  fellow — twenty-six  pounds  four  ounces,  my  land- 
lady says.     My  cousin  Janet  sent  him  to  me." 

"Oh,  but.  Sir  Keith,  we  cannot  rob  you,"  Miss  White  said,  as 
she  still  demurely  ])lied  her  fork.  "  If  there  is  any  special  virtue 
in  a  Highland  sahuon,  it  will  be  best  appreciated  by  yourself, 
rather  than  by  those  who  don't  know." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "  people  arc  so  kind  to  me  that  I  scarce- 
ly ever  am  allowed  to  dine  at  my  lodgings;  and  you  know  the 
salmon  should  be  cooked  at  once." 

Miss  Carry  had  been  making  a  face  behind  his  back  to  annoy 
her  sister.  She  now  came  for\v«iid  and  said,  with  a  charming  in- 
nocence in  her  eyes : 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  have  it  cooked  for  luncheon,  Gerty, 
for  that  would  look  too  much  like  bringing  your  tea  in  your 
pocket,  and  getting  hot  water  for  twopence.     Wouldn't  it  ?" 

Macleod  turned  and  regarded  this  new-comer  with  an  unmis- 
takable "  Who  is  this «"— "Co  an  so  f '— in  his  air. 

"  Oh,  that  is  my  sister  Carry,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Miss  White.  "  I 
forgot  you  had  not  seen  her." 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  said  he,  in  a  kindly  way ;  and  for  a  sec- 
ond he  put  his  hand  on  the  light  curls  as  her  father  might  have 
done.     "  I  suppose  you  like  having  holidays?" 

From  that  moment  she  became  his  deadly  enemy.  To  be  pat- 
ted on  the  head,  as  if  she  were  a  child,  an  infant — and  that  in 
the  presence  of  the  sister  whom  she  had  just  been  lecturing ! 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  she,  with  a  splendid  dignity,  as  she 
proudly  walked  off.  She  went  into  the  small  lobby  leading  to 
the  door.  She  called  to  the  little  maid-servant.  She  looked  at 
a  certain  long  bag  made  of  matting  which  lay  there,  some  bits  of 
grass  sticking  out  of  one  end.  "  Jane,  take  this  thing  down  to 
the  cellar  at  once  !     The  whole  house  smells  of  it." 

Meanwhile  Miss  White  had  carried  her  salad  dressing  in  to 
Marie,  and  had  gone  out  again  to  the  veranda,  where  Macleod  was 

4 


ti  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

seated.  He  was  charmed  Avith  tlie  dreamy  stillness  and  silence 
of  tliG  place,  with  the  lianging  foliage  all  around,  and  the  colors 
in  the  steep  gardens,  and  the  still  waters  below. 

"  I  dou't  see  how  it  is,"  said  he, "  but  you  seem  to  have  much 
more  open  houses  here  than  we  have.  Our  liouses  in  tlie  North 
look  cold,  and  hard,  and  bare.  We  should  laugh  if  we  sav/  a 
place  like  this  up  with  us ;  it  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  a  toy  place 
out  of  a  picture — from  Switzerland  or  some  such  country.  Here 
you  are  in  the  open  air,  with  your  own  little  world  around  you, 
and  nobody  to  sec  you ;  you  might  live  all  your  life  here,  and 
know  nothing  about  the  storms  crossing  the  Atlantic,  and  the 
v.'ars  in  Europe,  if  only  you  gave  up  the  newspapers." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  pretty  and  quiet,"  said  she,  and  the  small  fin- 
gers pulled  to  pieces  one  of  the  rose  leaves  that  Carry  had  thrown 
at  her.  "  But  you  know  one  is  never  satisfied  anywhere.  If  I 
v.ei'c  to  tell  you  the  longing  I  have  to  see  the  very  places  you  de- 
scribe as  being  so  desolate —  But  perhaps  papa  will  take  mc 
there  some  day." 

"  I  hope  so,"  «aid  he ;  "  bat  I  would  not  call  thera  desolate. 
They  are  terrible  at  times,  and  they  are  lonely,  and  they  make 
you  think.  But  they  are  beautiful  too,  with  a  sort  of  splendid 
beauty  and  grandeur  that  goes  very  near  n^aking  yon  misera- 
ble. ...  I  cannot  describe  it.     You  will  see  for  yonrsclf." 

Here  a  bell  rang,  and  at  the  same  moment  Mr.  White  made 
Iiis  appearance. 

"How  do  you  do,  Sir  Keith?  Luncheon  is  ready,  my  dear — 
luncheon  is  ready — luncheon  is  ready." 

lie  kept  muttering  to  liimself  as  he  led  the  way.  They  en- 
tered a  small  dining-room,  and  here,  if  Macleod  had  ever  heard 
of  actresses  having  little  time  to  give  to  domestic  affairs,  he  must 
have  been  struck  by  the  exceeding  neatness  and  brightness  of 
everything  on  the  table  and  around  it.  The  snow-v/hito  cover ; 
the  brilliant  glass  and  spoons;  the  carefully  arranged,  if  tiny, 
bouquets;  and  the  precision  with  which  the  smart  little  maid- 
servant, the  only  attendant,  waited  —  all  these  things  showed  a 
household  well  managed.  Nay,  this  iced  claret-cup — was  it  not 
of  her  own  composition  ? — and  a  pleasanter  beverage  he  had  never 
drank. 

But  she  seemed  to  pay  little  attention  to  these  matters,  for 
she  kept  glancing  at  lier  father,  who,  as  he  addressed  Macleod 


LAUUEL    COTTAGK.  75 

from  time  to  time,  was  obviously  nervous  and  liarassed  about 
sometliiiitj;.     At  last  slic  said, 

"Papa,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  lias  anything  gone 
wrong  this  niornino:  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,"  said  he,  "  don't  speak  of  it.  It  is  my 
memory — I  fear  my  memory  is  going.  But  we  will  not  trouble 
our  guest  about  it.  I  think  you  were  saying,  Sir  Keith,  that  you 
had  seen  the  latest  additions  to  the  National  Gallery — " 

"  But  what  is  it,  papa  ?"  his  daughter  insisted. 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  I  know  I  have  the  lines  somewhere;  and 

Lord says  that  tlic  very  first  jug  fired  at  the  new  pottery 

he  is  liclping  sliall  have  these  lines  on  it,  and  be  kept  for  liim- 
self.  I  know  I  have  both  the  Spanish  original  and  the  English 
translation  somewhere;  and  all  the  morning  I  have  been  huntin"- 
and  hunting  —  for  only  one  line.  I  think  I  know  the  other 
tiirec — 

'Old  wine  to  diiuk. 

Old  wrongs  let  sink. 
*         *         *         * 

Old  friends  in  need.' 

It  is  the  third  line  that  has  escaped  me — dear,  dear  me !  I  fear 
my  brain  is  going." 

"  But  I  v.'ill  hunt  for  it,  papa,"  said  she ;  "  I  will  get  the  lines 
for  you.     Don't  you  trouble." 

"  No,  no,  no,  child,"  said  he,  witli  somewhat  of  a  pompous  air. 
"You  have  this  new  character  to  study.  You  must  not  allow 
any  trouble  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  your  mind  while  you  are 
so  engaged.  You  must  give  your  heart  and  soul  to  it,  Gerty ; 
you  must  forget  yourself ;  you  must  abandon  yourself  to  it,  and 
let  it  grow  up  in  your  mind  until  the  conception  is  so  perfect 
that  there  are  no  traces  of  the  manner  of  its  production  left." 

He  certainly  was  addressing  his  daughter,  but  somehow  tlic 
formal  phrases  suggested  that  he  was  speaking  for  the  benefit  of 
the  stranger.     The  prim  old  gentleman  continued  : 

"  That  is  the  only  way.  Art  demands  absolute  self-forgetful- 
ness.  You  must  give  yourself  to  it  in  complete  surrender.  Peo- 
ple may  not  know  the  difference ;  but  the  true  artist  seeks  only 
to  be  true  to  himself.  You  produce  the  perfect  flower ;  they  are 
not  to  know  of  the  anxious  care — of  the  agony  of  tears,  perhaps 
— you  Lave  spent  on  it.     But  then  your  whole  mind  must  be 


16  MACLEOD    OF    DAKE. 

given  to  it;.t]iore  mnst  be  no  distracting  cares;  I  will  look  fur 
the  missing  line  myself." 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  papa,"  said  Miss  Carry,  spitefully,  "  that  she 
was  far  more  anxious  about  these  cutlets  than  about  her  new 
part  this  morning.  She  ■was  half  a  dozen  times  down  to  the 
kitchen.     I  didn't  see  her  reading  the  book  much." 

"The  res  angustce  doini,^''  said  the  father,  sententiously,  "  some- 
times interfere,  where  people  are  not  too  well  off.  But  that  is 
necessary.  What  is  not  necessary  is  th.at  Gerty  should  take  my 
troubles  over  to  lierself,  and  disturb  her  formation  of  this  new 
character,  which  ought  to  be  growing  up  in  her  mind  almost  in- 
sensibly, until  she  herself  will  scarcely  be  aware  how  real  it  is. 
When  she  steps  on  to  the  stage  she  ought  to  be  no  more  Ger- 
trude White  than  you  or  I.  The  artist  loses  himself.  He  trans- 
fers his  soul  to  his  creation.  His  heart  beats  in  another  breast; 
he  sees  with  other  eyes.  You  will  excuse  me,  Sir  Keith,  but  I 
keep  insisting  on  this  point  to  my  daughter.  If  she  ever  be- 
comes a  great  artist,  that  will  be  the  secret  of  her  success.  And 
she  ouo-ht  never  to  cease  from  cultivating  the  habit.  She  ouirht 
to  be  ready  at  any  moment  to  project  herself,  as  it  were,  into  any 
character.  She  ought  to  practice  so  as  to  make  of  her  own  emo- 
tions an  instrument  that  she  can  use  at  will.  It  is  a  great  de- 
mand tliat  art  makes  on  the  life  of  an  artist.  In  fact,  lie  ceases 
to  live  for  himself.  He  becomes  merely  a  medium.  His  most 
secret  experiences  are  the  property  of  the  world  at  large,  once 
tliey  have  been  transfused  and  moulded  by  his  personal  skill." 

And  so  he  continued  talking,  apparently  for  the  instruction  of 
his  daughter,  but  also  giving  his  guest  clearly  to  understand  that 
Miss  Gertrude  White  was  not  as  other  women,  but  rather  as  one 
set  apart  for  the  high  and  inexorable  sacrifice  demanded  by  art. 
At  the  end  of  his  lecture  he  abruptly  asked  Macleod  if  he  had 
followed  him.  Yes,  he  had  followed  him,  but  in  rather  a  bewil- 
dered way.  Or  had  he  some  confused  sense  of  self-reproach,  in 
tliat  he  had  distracted  the  contemplation  of  this  pale  and  beauti- 
ful artist,  and  sent  her  down-stairs  to  look  after  cutlets  ? 

"It  seems  a  little  hard,  sir,"  said  Macleod  to  the  old  man, 
"that  an  artist  is  not  to  have  any  life  of  his  or  her  own  at  all; 
that  he  or  she  should  become  merely  a — a — a  sort  of  ten-minutes' 
emotionalist." 

It  was  not  a  bad  phrase  for  a  rude  Highlander  to  have  invented 


hi. 

THE    PRINCESS    RIGIIINN.  -  ^7 

on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  But  the  fact  was  that  sonic  little 
personal  fcclino-  stung  him  into  the  speech,  lie  Avas  prepared  to 
I'csent  this  tyranny  of  art.  And  if  he  now  were  to  see  some 
beautiful  pale  slave  bound  in  these  iron  chains,  and  being  exhib- 
ited for  the  amusement  of  an  idle  world,  what  would  the  fierce 
blood  of  the  Macleods  say  to  that  debasement?  lie  began  to 
dislike  this  old  man,  with  his  cruel  theories  and  his  oracular 
speech.  But  he  forbore  to  have  further  or  any  argument  with 
him ;  for  he  remembored  what  the  Highlanders  call  "  the  advice 
of  the  bell  of  Scoon  " — "  The  thing  that  concerns  you  7iot,  meddle 
not  with.'''' 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    PRINCESS    RIGIIINN. 


The  people  who  lived  in  this  land  of  summer,  and  sunshine, 
and  flowers — had  they  no  cares  at  all?  lie  went  out  into  the 
garden  with  these  two  girls ;  and  they  were  like  two  young 
fawns  in  their  careless  play.  Miss  Carry,  indeed,  seemed  bent  on 
tantalizing  him  by  the  manner  in  which  she  petted  and  teased 
and  caressed  her  sister — scolding  her,  quarrelling  with  her,  and 
kissing  her  all  at  once.  The  grave,  gentle,  forbearing  manner  in 
which  the  elder  sister  bore  all  this  was  beautiful  to  see.  •  And 
then  her  sudden  concern  and  pity  when  the  wild  Miss  Carry  had 
succeeded  in  scratching  her  finger  with  the  thorn  of  a  rose-bush  ! 
It  was  the  tiniest  of  scratches;  and  all  the  blood  that  appeared 
was  about  the  size  of  a  pin-head.  But  Miss  White  must  needs 
tear  up  her  dainty  little  pocket-handkerchief,  and  bind  that 
grievous  wound,  and  condole  with  the  poor  victim  as  though  she 
were  suffering  untold  agonies.  It  was  a  pretty  sort  of  idleness. 
It  seemed  to  harmonize  with  this  still,  beautiful  summer  day,  and 
the  soft  green  foliage  around,  and  the  still  air  that  was  sweet 
with  the  scent  of  the  flowers  of  the  lime-trees.  They  say  that 
the  Gaelic  word  for  the  lower  regions,  ifrin,  is  derived  from 
i-bhuini,  the  island  of  incessant  rain.  To  a  Highlander,  there- 
fore, must  not  this  land  of  perpetual  summer  and  sunslune  have 
seemed  to  be  heaven  itself? 

And  even  the  malicious  Carry  relented  for  a  moment. 


78  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"You  said  you.  were  going  to  tlio  Zoological  Gardens,"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  aui.  I  have  seen  everything  I  want 
to  sec  in  London  but  that." 

"  Because  Gerty  and  I  might  walk  across  the  Park  with  you, 
and  show  you  the  way." 

"  I  very  much  wish  you  would,"  said  he,  "  if  you  have  nothing 
better  to  do." 

"  I  will  sec  if  papa  does  not  want  me,"  said  Miss  White,  calm- 
ly. She  might  just  as  well  be  walking  in  Regent's  Park  as  in 
this  small  garden. 

Presently  the  three  of  them  set  out. 

"  I  am  glad  of  any  excuse,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "  for  throw- 
ing aside  that  new  part.  It  seems  to  me  insufferably  stupid.  It 
is  very  hard  that  you  should  be  expected  to  make  a  character 
look  natural  when  the  words  you  have  to  speak  are  such  as  no 
human  being  would  use  in  any  circumstances  whatever." 

Oddly  enough,  he  never  heard  her  make  even  the  slightest  ref- 
erence to  her  profession  without  experiencing  a  sharp  twinge  of 
annoyance.  He  did  not  stay  to  ask  himself  v.-hy  this  should  be 
so.     Ordinarily  he  simply  made  haste  to  change  the  subject. 

"Then  why  should  you  take  the  part  at  all  ?"  said  he,  bluntly. 

"  Once  you  have  given  yourself  up  to  a  particular  calling,  yon 
must  accept  its  little  annoyances,"  she  said,  frankly.  "  I  cannot 
have  everything  my  own  way.  I  have  been  very  fortunate  in 
other  respects.  I  never  had  to  go  through  the  drudgery  of  the 
provinces,  though  they  say  that  is  the  best  school  possible  for  an 
actress.  And  I  am  sure  the  money  and  the  care  papa  has  spent 
on  mv  traininix — vou  see,  he  has  no  son  to  send  to  colleo-c.  I 
think  he  is  far  more  anxious  about  my  succeeding  than  I  am 
myself." 

"  But  you  have  succeeded,"  said  Macleod.  It  was,  indeed,  the 
least  he  could  say,  with  all  his  dislike  of  the  subject. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  call  that  success,"  said  she,  simply.  "  That  is 
merely  pleasing  people  by  showing  them  little  scenes  from  their 
own  drawing-rooms  transferred  to  the  stage.  They  like  it  be- 
cause it  is  pretty  and  familiar.  And  people  pretend  to  be  very 
cynical  at  present  —  they  like  things  with  'no  nonsense  about 
them ;'  and  I  suppose  this  sort  of  comedy  ig  the  natural  reaction 
from  the  rant  of  the  melodrama.     Stilly  if  you  happen  to  be  am- 


TIIK    PRINCESS    RIGIIINN.  TO 

bitious — or  perhaps  it  is  mere  vanity  ? — if  you  would  like  to  try 
wliat  is  in  you — " 

"  Gcrty  wants  to  Le  a  Mrs.  Siddons :  that's  it,"  said  Miss 
Carry,  promptly. 

Talking  to  an  actress  about  Ircr  profession,  and  not  having  a 
word  of  compliment  to  say !  Instead,  he  praised  the  noble  elms 
and  chestnuts  of  the  Park,  the  broad  white  lake,  the  flowers,  the 
avenues.  He  was  greatly  interested  by  the  whizzing  by  overhead 
of  a  brace  of  duck.       ^ 

"I  suppose  you  are  very  fond  of  animals?"  Miss  "White  said. 

"  I  am  indeed,"  said  he,  suddenly  brightening  up.  "  And  up 
at  our  place  I  give  them  all  a  chance.  I  don't  allow  a  single 
weasel  or  hawk  to  be  killed,  though  I  have  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
about  it.  But  what  is  the  result?  I  don't  know  whether  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  the  balance  of  nature,  or  whether  it  is  merely 
that  the  hawks  and  weasels  and  other  vermin  kill  off  the  sickly 
birds:  but  I  do  know  that  we  have  less  disease  among  our  birds 
than  I  hear  of  anywhere  else.  I  have  sometimes  shot  a  weasel, 
it  is  true,  when  I  have  run  across  him  as  he  was  hunting  a  rabbit 
— you  cannot  help  doing  that  if  you  hear  the  rabbit  squealing 
with  fright  long  before  the  weasel  is  at  him — but  it  is  against 
my  rule,  I  give  them  all  a  fair  field  and  no  favor.  But  there 
are  two  animals  I  put  out  of  the  list ;  I  thought  there  was  only 
one  till  this  week — now  there  are  two ;  and  one  of  them  I  hate, 
the  other  I  fear." 

"Fear?"  she  said:  the  slight  flash  of  surprise  in  her  eyes  was 
eloquent  enough.     But  he  did  not  notice  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  rather  gloomily,  "  I  suppose  it  is  superstition, 
or  you  may  have  it  in  your  blood ;  but  the  horror  I  have  of  the 
eyes  of  a  snake — I  cannot  tell  you  of  it.  Perhaps  I  vi^as  fright- 
ened when  I  was  a  child  —  I  cannot  remember;  or  perhaps  it 
was  the  stories  of  the  old  women.  The  serpent  is  very  mysteri- 
ous to  the  people  in  the  Highlands :  they  have  stories  of  water- 
snakes  in  the  lochs:  and  if  you  get  a  nest  of  seven  adders  with 
one  white  one,  you  boil  the  white  one,  and  the  man  who  drinks 
the  broth  knows  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth.  In  the  Lewis 
they  call  the  serpent  rifjMnn,  that  is,  *  a  princess;^  and  they  say 
that  the  serpent  is  a  princess  bewitched.  But  that  is  from  fear 
— it  is  a  compliment — " 

"  But  surely  there  arc  no  serpents  to  be  afraid  of  in  the  High- 


80  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

lands?"  said  Miss  White.  She  was  looking  rather  curiously  at 
hiin. 

"  No,"  said  he,  in  the  same  gloomy  way.  "  The  adders  run 
away  from  you  if  you  are  walking  through  the  heather.  If  you 
tread  on  one,  and  he  bites  your  boot,  what  then  ?  lie  cannot 
hurt  you.  But  suppose  you  are  out  after  the  deer,  and  you  are 
crawling  along  the  heather  with  your  face  to  the  ground,  and  all 
at  once  you  see  the  two  small  eyes  of  an  adder  looking  at  you 
and  close  to  you — " 

lie  shuddered  slightly — perhaps  it  was  only  an  expression  of 
disgust. 

"  I  have  heard,"  he  continued,  "  that  in  parts  of  Islay  they 
used  to  be  so  bad  that  the  farmers  would  set  fire  to  the  heather 
in  a  circle,  and  as  the  heather  burned  in  and  in  you  could  see  the 
snakes  and  adders  twisting  and  curling  in  a  great  ball.  AVc  have 
not  many  with  us.  But  one  day  John  Bcgg,  that  is  the  school- 
master, went  behind  a  rock  to  get  a  light  for  his  pipe ;  and  he 
put  his  liead  close  to  the  rock  to  be  out  of  the  wind ;  and  then 
he  thought  he  stirred  something  with  his  cap ;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  adder  fell  on  to  his  shoulder,  and  bit  him  in  the  neck. 
He  was  half  mad  with  the  fright ;  but  I  think  the  adder  must 
have  bitten  the  cap  first  and  expended  its  poison ;  for  the  school- 
master was  only  ill  for  about  two  days,  and  tlien  there  was  no 
more  of  it.  But  just  think  of  it  —  an  adder  getting  to  your 
neck—" 

"  I  would  rather  not  think  of  it,"  she  said,  quickly.  *'  "What 
is  the  other  animal — that  you  hate  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  he  said,  lightly,  "  that  is  a  very  different  affair — that  is 
a  parrot  that  speaks.  I  was  never  shut  up  in  the  house  with  one 
till  this  week.  My  landlady's  son  brought  her  home  one  from 
the  West  Indies ;  and  she  put  the  cage  in  a  window  recess  on 
my  landing.  At  first  it  was  a  little  amusing;  but  the  constant 
yelp  —  it  was  too  much  for  me.  ''Pritty  poal!  pritty  poal !''  I 
did  not  mind  so  much ;  but  when  the  ugly  brute,  with  its  beady 
eyes  and  its  black  snout,  used  to  yelp,  ''Come  and  Mz  me!  come 
and  kiz  me  P  I  grev/  to  hate  it.  And  in  the  morning,  too,  how 
was  one  to  sleep?  I  used  to  open  my  door  and  tling  a  boot  at 
it ;  but  that  only  served  for  a  time.     It  began  again." 

"  But  you  speak  of  it  as  having  been  there.  What  became  of 
it?" 


THE    rniNCESS    HIGTUNN.  81 

lie  glanced  at  her  rather  nervously — like  a  school-boy — and 
laughed. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?"  he  said,  rather  shamefacedly.  "The  nnir- 
der  will  be  out  sooner  or  later.  It  was  this  morning.  I  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  I  had  thrown  both  my  boots  at  it;  it  was 
no  use.  I  got  up  a  third  time,  and  went  out.  The  window,  that 
looks  into  a  back  yard,  was  open.  Then  I  opened  the  parrot's 
cage.  But  the  fool  of  an  animal  did  not  know  what  I  meant — 
or  it  was  afraid — and  so  I  caught  him  by  the  bade  of  the  neck 
and  flung  him  out.     I  don't  know  anything  more  about  him." 

"  Could  he  fly  ?"  said  the  big-eyed  Carry,  who  had  been  quite 
interested  in  this  tragic  tale. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Maclcod  said,  modestly.  "  There  was  no  use 
asking  him.  All  he  could  say  was,  ^Comcand  kiz  me  f  and  I  got 
tired  of  that." 

"Then  you  have  murdered  him!"  said  the  elder.. sister  in  an 
awe -stricken  voice;  and  she  pretended  to  withdraw  a  bit  from 
him.  "I  don't  believe  in  the  Macleods  having  become  civilized, 
peaceable  people.  I  believe  they  would  have  no  hesitation  in 
murdering  any  one  that  was  in  their  way." 

"  Oh,  Miss  White,"  said  he,  in  protest,  "  you  must  forget  what 
I  told  you  about  the  Macleods ;  and  you  must  really  believe  they 
were  no  worse  than  the  others  of  the  same  time.  Now  I  was 
thinking  of  another  story  the  other  day,  which  I  must  tell  you — " 

"Oh,  pray  don't,"  she  said,  "if  it  is  one  of  those  terrible  le- 
gends— " 

"But  I  must  tell  you,"  said  he,  "because  it  is  about  the  Mac- 
donalds ;  and  I  want  to  show  you  that  we  had  not  all  the  bad- 
ness of  those  times.  It  was  Donald  Gorm  Mor ;  and  his  nephew 
Hugh  Macdonald,  Avho  was  the  heir  to  the  chieftainship,  he  got 
a  number  of  men  to  join  him  in  a  conspiracy  to  have  his  uncle 
murdered.  The  chief  found  it  out,  and  forgave  him.  That  was 
not  like  a  Macleod,"  he  admitted,  "  for  I  never  heard  of  a  Mac- 
leod  of  thOvSe  days  forgiving  anybody.  But  again  Hugh  Mac- 
donald engaged  in  a  conspiracy ;  and  then  Donald  Gorm  Mor 
thought  he  would  put  an  end  to  the  nonsense.  What  did  he  do  ? 
He  put  his  nephew  into  a  deep  and  foul  dungeon — so  the  story 
says  —  and  left  him  without  food  or  water  for  a  whole  day. 
Then  there  was  salt  beef  lowered  into  the  dungeon ;  and  Mac- 
donald he  devoured  the  salt  beef,  for  he  was  starving  with  hun- 

4* 


82  MACLEOD    OF    n.\UE. 

ger.  Then  tlicy  left  bim  alone.  Bnt  you  can  imagine  tlic  thirst 
of  a  man  who  lias  been  eatino;  salt  beef,  and  -who  has  had  no  wa- 
ter  for  a  day  or  two.  lie  was  mad  with  thirst.  Then  they  low- 
ered a  cup  into  the  dungeon — you  may  imagine  the  eagerness 
with  which  the  poor  fellow  saw  it  coming  down  to  liim — and 
how  he  caught  it  with  both  his  hands.  But  it  was  emj)ty  !  And 
so,  having  made  a  fool  of  him  in  that  ^vay,  they  left  him  to  die 
of  thirst.  That  was  the  Macdonalds,  Miss  ^Yhii.e,  not  the  Mac- 
leods." 

"Then  I  am  glad  of  Cnlloden,"  said  she,  with  decision,  "for 
destroying  such  a  race  of  fiends." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  say  that,"  he  protested,  laughing.  "  We 
should  have  become  quiet  and  respectable  folks  without  Culloden. 
Even  without  Cull^oden  v.e  should  have  had  penny  newspapers  all 
the  same;  and  tourist  boats  from  Oban  to  lona.  Indeed,  you 
won't  find  quieter  folks  anywhere  than  the  Macdonalds  and  Mac- 
leods  are  now." 

"  I  don't  know  how  far  you  arc  to  be  trusted,"  said  she,  pre- 
tending to  look  at  him  with  some  doubts. 

Now  they  readied  the  gate  of  the  Gardens. 

"  Do  let  us  go  in,  Gerty,"  said  Miss  Carry.  "  You  know  you  al- 
ways get  hints  for  3'our  dresses  from  the  birds — you  would  never 
have  thought  of  that  flamingo  pink  and  white  if  you  had  not 
been  walkino-  throuo;h  here — " 

"  I  will  go  in  for  a  wliile  if  you  like.  Carry,"  said  she ;  and  cer- 
tainly Macleod  was  nothing  loath. 

There  were  but  few  people  in  the  Gardens  on  this  afternoon, 
for  all  the  world  was  up  at  the  Eton  and  Harrow  cricket-match 
at  Lord's,  and  there  was  little  visible  of  'Arry  and  his  pipe. 
Macleod  began  to  show  more  than  a  school-boy's  deliglit  over  the 
wonders  of  this  strange  place.  That  he  was  exceedingly  fond  of 
animals — alwavs  barring  the  two  he  had  mentioned — was  soon 
abundantly  shown.  He  talked  to  them  as  though  the  mute  in- 
quiring eyes  could  understand  him  thoroughly.  "When  he  came 
to  animals  with  which  he  was  familiar  in  the  North,  he  seemed 
to  be  renewing  acquaintance  with  old  friends — like  himself,  they 
were  strangers  in  a  strange  land. 

"Ah,"  said  he  to  the  splendid  red  deer,  which  was  walking 
about  the  paddock  with  his  velvety  horns  held  proudly  in  the 
air,  "  what  part  of  tlie  Highlands  have  you  come  from  ?     And 


THE    PRINCiSSS    RIOIIINN.  83 

cWoulJii't  yon  like  now  a  canter  down  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream  on 
the  side  of  Ben-an-Sloicli  ?" 

The  liiiid,  with  s^hjw  and  gentle  s^tep,  and  with  Iht  nut-brown 
hide  shining  in  tlic  sun,  came  up  to  the  bars,  and  regarded  liiin 
with  those  large,  clear,  gray-green  eyes  —  so  different  from  the 
soft,  dark  eyes  of  the  roe — that  had  long  eyelashes  on  the  npper 
lid.     He  rubbed  her  nose. 

"And  wouldn't  you  rather  be  up  on  the  heather, munching  the 
vouno-  Q-rass  and  drinkino-  out  of  the  burn  ?" 

They  went  along  to  the  great  cage  of  the  sea -eagles.  The 
birds  seemed  to  pay  no  heed  to  what  was  passing  immediately 
around  them.  Ever  and  anon  they  jerked  their  heads  into  an 
attitude  of  attention,  and  the  golden  -  brown  eye,  Avith  its  con- 
tracted pupil  and  stern  upper  lid,  seemed  to  be  throwing  a  keen 
glance  over  immeasurable  leagues  of  sea. 

"  Poor  old  chap  !"  he  said  to  the  one  perched  higli  on  an  old 
stump,  "  wouldn't  you  like  to  liave  one  sniff  of  a  sea-breeze,  and  a 
look  round  for  a  sea-pyot  or  two  ?  What  do  they  give  you  here 
— dead  fish,  I  suppose  f 

The  eagle  raised  its  great  wings  and  slowly  flapped  them  once 
or  twice,  while  it  uttered  a  succession  of  shrill  yaivjys. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  "  you  could  make  yourself  heard  above  the 
sound  of  the  waves.  And  I  thiyk  if  any  of  the  boys  were  after 
your  eggs  or  your  young  ones,"yoa  could  make  short  work  of 
them  with  those  big  wings.  Or  would  you  like  to  have  a  battle- 
royal  with  a  seal,  and  try  whether  you  could  pilot  the  seal  in  to 
the  shore,  or  whether  the  seal  would  drag  you  and  your  fixed 
claws  down  to  the  bottom  and  drown  you  ?" 

There  was  a  solitary  kittiwake  in  a  cage  devoted  to  sea-birds, 
nearly  all  of  which  were  foreigners. 

"  You  poor  little  kittiwake,"  said  he,  "  this  is  a  sad  place  for 
you  to  be  in.  I  think  you  would  rather  be  out  at  Ru-Trcslianish, 
even  if  it  was  blowing  hard,  and  there  was  rain  about.  There 
was  a  dead  whale  came  ashore  there  about  a  month  ago;  that 
would  have  been  something  like  a  feast  for  you." 

"Why,"  said  he,  to  his  human  companion,  "if  I  had  only 
known  before !  Whenever  there  was  an  hour  or  two  with  noth- 
ing to  do,  here  was  plenty  of  occupation.  But  I  must  not  keep 
you  too  long,  Miss  AVhite.  I  could  remain  here  days  and 
wcets." 


84  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  You  will  not  go  without  looking  in  at  tlic  serpents,"  said  she, 
with  a  slight  smile. 

lie  hesitated  for  a  second. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  I  think  I  will  not  go  in  to  see  them." 

"  But  you  must,"  said  she,  cruelly.  "  You  will  see  they  are 
not  such  terrible  creatures  when  they  are  shut  up  in  glass  boxes." 

lie  suffered  himself  to  be  led  along  to  the  reptile  house;  but 
he  was  silent,  lie  entered  the  last  of  the  three.  lie  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  looked  around  him  in  rather  a 
strange  way. 

"  Now,  come  and  look  at  this  splendid  fellow,"  said  Miss 
White,  who,  with  her  sister,  was  leaning  over  the  rail.  "  Look 
at  his  splendid  bars  of  color !  do  you  see  the  beautiful  blue  sheen 
on  its  scales?" 

It  was  a  huge  anaconda,  its  body  as  thick  as  a  man's  leg,  lying- 
coiled  up  in  a  circle  ;  its  flat,  ugly  head  reposing  in  the  middle. 
He  came  a  bit  nearer.  "  Hideous  !"  was  all  he  said.  And  then 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  eyes  of  the  animal — the  lidless  eyes, 
with  their  perpetual  glassy  stare.  He  had  thought  at  first  they 
were  closed  ;  but  now  he  saw  tjiat  that  opaque  yellow  substance 
was  covered  by  a  glassy  coating,  while  in  the  centre  there  was  a 
small  slit  as  if  cut  by  a  penknife.  The  great  coils  slowly  ex- 
panded and  fell  again  as  the  animal  breathed ;  otherwise  the  fixed 
stare  of  those  yellow  eyes  might  have  been  taken  for  the  stare 
of  death. 

'*  I  don't  think  the  anaconda  is  poisonous  at  all,"  said  she, 
lightly. 

"But  if  you  were  to  meet  that  beast  in  a  jungle,"  said  he, 
"  what  difference  would  that  make  !" 

He  spoke  reproachfully,  as  if  she  were  luring  him  into  some 
secret  place  to  have  him  slain  with  poisonous  fangs.  He  passed 
on  from  that  case  to  the  others  unwillinarlv.  The  room  was  still. 
Most  of  the  snakes  would  have  seemed  dead  but  for  the  malign 
stare  of  the  beaded  eyes.  He  seemed  anxious  to  get  out;  the 
atmosphere  of  the  place  was  hot  and  oppressive. 

But  just  at  the  door  there  was  a  case  some  quick  motion  in 
which  caught  his  eye,  and  despite  himself  he  stopped  to  look. 
The  inside  of  this  glass  box  was  alive  with  snakes — raising  their 
heads  in  the  air,  slimily  crawling  over  each  other,  the  small  black 
forked  tongues  shooting  in  and  out,  the  black  points  of  eyes 


TilK    PRINCESS    RIGIIINN.  85 

glassily  starino;.  And  the  object  that  had  moved  quickly  was  a 
wretched  little  yellow  frog,  that  was  now  motionless  in  a  dish  of 
water,  its  eyes  apparently  starting  out  of  its  head  with  horror. 
A  snake  made  its  appeai'ance  over  the  edge  of  the  dish.  The 
shooting  black  tongue  approached  the  head  of  the  frog  ;  and 
then  the  long,  sinuous  body  glided  along  the  edge  of  the  dish 
again,  the  frog  meanwhile  being  too  paralyzed  with  fear  to  move. 
A  second  afterward  the  frog,  apparently  recovering,  sprung  clean 
out  of  the  basin ;  but  it  was  only  to  alight  on  the  backs  of  two 
or  three  of  the  reptiles  lying  coiled  up  together.  It  made  anoth- 
er spring,  and  got  into  a  corner  among  some  grass.  But  along 
that  side  of  tlie  case  another  of  those  small,  flat,  yellow-marked 
heads  was  slowly  creeping  along,  propelled  by  the  squirming 
body ;  and  again  the  frog  made  a  sudden  spring,  this  time  leap- 
ing once  more  into  the  shallow  water,  where  it  stood  and  panted, 
with  its  eyes  dilated.  And  now  a  snake  that  had  crawled  up  the 
side  of  the  case  put  out  its  long  neck  as  if  to  see  whither  it  should 
proceed.  There  was  nothing  to  lay  hold  of.  The  head  swayed 
and  twisted,  the  forked  tongue  shooting  out;  and  at  last  the 
snake  fell  away  from  its  hold,  and  splashed  right  into  the  basin 
of  water  on  the  top  of  the  frog.  There  was  a  w^ild  shooting  this 
way  and  that — but  Macleod  did  not  see  the  end  of  it.  He  had 
uttered  some  slight  exclamation,  and  got  into  the  open  air,  as  one 
being  suffocated ;  and  there  were  drops  of  perspiration  on  his 
forehead,  and  a  trembling  of  horror  and  disgust  had  seized  liim. 
Ilis  two  companions  followed  him  out. 

"  I  felt  rather  faint,"  said  lie,  in  a  low  voice — and  he  did  not 
turn  to  look  at  them  as  he  spoke  —  "the  air  is  close  in  that 
room." 

They  moved  av/ay.  He  looked  around — at  the  beautiful  green 
of  the  trees,  and  the  blue  sky,  and  the  sunlight  on  the  path — - 
God's  world  was  getting  to  be  more  wholesome  again,  and  the 
choking  sensation  of  disgust  was  going  from  his  throat.  He 
seemed,  however,  rather  anxious  to  get  away  from  this  place. 
There  was  a  gate  close  by ;  he  proposed  they  should  go  out  by 
that.  As  he  walked  back  with  them  to  South  Bank,  they  chat- 
ted about  many  of  the  animals — the  two  girls  in  especial  being 
much  interested  in  certain  pheasants,  whose  colors  of  plumage 
they  thought  would  look  very  pretty  in  a  dress — but  he  never 
referred,  cither  then  or  at  any  future  time,  to  his  visit  to  the  rep- 


80  MACLEOD    OF    iJAUE. 

tile  bouse.  Nor  did  it  occur  to  Miss  White,  in  this  idle  conver- 
sation, to  ask  him  whether  his  Highland  blood  had  inherited  any- 
other  qualities  besides  that  instinctive  and  deadly  horror  of  ser- 
pents. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LAST    NIGIITS. 

"  GooD-NiGnT,  Macleod  !"  —  "  Good-night !"  —  "  Good-night !" 
The  various  voices  came  from  the  top  of  a  drag.  They  -were  ad- 
dressed to  one  of  two  young  men  who  stood  on  the  steps  of  the 
Star  and  Garter — black  figures  in  the  blaze  of  light.  And  now 
the  people  on  the  drag  had  finally  ensconced  themselves,  and  the 
ladies  had  drawn  their  ample  cloaks  more  completely  around  their 
gay  costumes,  and  the  two  grooms  were  ready  to  set  free  the 
heads  of  the  leaders.  "  Good-night,  Macleod  !"  Lord  Beauregard 
called  again ;  and  then,  with  a  little  preliminary  prancing  of  the 
leaders,  away  swung  the  big  vehicle  through  the  clear  darkness  of 
the  sweet-scented  summer  night. 

"  It  was  awfully  good-natured  of  Beauregard  to  bring  six  of 
your  people  down  and  take  them  back  again,"  observed  Lieuten- 
ant Ogilvie  to  his  companion.  "  He  wouldn't  do  it  for  most 
folks.  He  wouldn't  do  it  for  me.  But  then  you  have  the  grand 
air,  Macleod.  You  seem  to  be  conferring  a  favor  when  you  get 
one." 

"  The  people  have  been  very  kind  to  me,"  said  Macleod,  simply. 
"  I  do  not  know  why.  I  wish  I  could  take  them  all  up  to  Castle 
Dare  and  entertain  them  as  a  prince  could  entertain  people — " 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  that,  Macleod,"  said  his  compan- 
ion. "  Shall  we  go  up-stairs  again  ?  I  have  left  my  hat  and  coat 
there." 

They  went  up-stairs,  and  entered  a  long  chamber  which  had 
been  formed  by  the  throwing  of  two  rooms  into  one.  The  one 
apartment  had  been  used  as  a  sort  of  withdrawing-room ;  in  the 
other  stood  the  long  banquet-table,  still  covered  with  bright-col- 
ored flowers,  and  dishes  of  fruit,  and  decanters  and  glasses.  Ogil- 
vie sat  down,  lit  a  cigar,  and  poured  himself  out  some  claret. 

"  Macleod,"  said  he,  "  I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  like  a  father. 
I  hear  you  have  been  going  on  in  a  mad  way.     Surely  you  know 


LAST    rIKiUTS.  87 

that  a  baclielor  coming  up  to  London  for  a  season,  and  being 
asked  about  by  people  who  are  precious  glad  to  get  unmarried 
men  to  their  houses,  is  nut  expected  to  give  these  swell  dinner 
parties?  And  then,  it  seems,  you  have  been  bringing  down  all 
your  people  in  drags.  What  do  those  flowers  cost  you  ?  I  dare 
say  this  is  Lalitte,  now  ?" 

"  And  if  it  is,  why  not  drink  it  and  say  no  more  about  it  ?  I 
think  they  enjoyed  themselves  pretty  well  this  evening — don't 
you,  Ogilvie  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  then,  my  dear  fellow,  the  cost !  You  will  say 
it  is  none  of  my  business ;  but  what  would  your  decent,  respect- 
able mother  say  to  all  this  extravagance  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  Macleod,  "that  is  just  the  thing;  I  should  have 
more  pleasure  in  my  little  dinner  parties  if  only  the  mother  and 
Janet  were  here  to  see.  I  think  the  table  would  look  a  good 
deal  better  if  my  mother  was  at  the  head  of  it.  And  the  cost? — 
oh,  I  am  only  following  out  her  instructions.  She  Avould  not 
have  people  think  that  I  was  insensible  to  the  kindness  that  has 
been  shown  me ;  and  then  we  cannot  ask  all  those  good  friends 
up  to  Castle  Dare ;  it  is  an  out-of-lhc-way  place,  and  there  are  no 
flowers  on  the  dniing-table  there." 

lie  laughed  as  he  looked  at  the  beautiful  things  before  him ; 
they  would  look  strange  in  the  gaunt  hall  of  Castle  Dare. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  I  will  tell  you  a  secret,  Ogilvie.  You  know 
my  cousin  Janet — she  is  the  kindest-hearted  of  all  the  women  I 
know — and  when  I  was  coming  away  she  gave  me  £2000,  just  in 
case  I  should  need  it." 

"  £2000  !"  exclaimed  Ogilvie.  "  Did  she  think  you  were  go- 
ing to  buy  Westminster  Abbey  during  the  course  of  your  holi- 
days ?"  And  then  he  looked  at  the  table  before  him,  and  a  new 
idea  seemed  to  strike  him.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say,  Macleod, 
that  it  is  your  cousin's  money — " 

Macleod's  face  flushed  angrily.  Had  any  other  man  made  the 
suggestion,  he  would  have  received  a  tolerably  sharp  answer. 
But  he  only  said  to  his  old  friend  Ogilvie, 

"  No,  no,  Ogilvie  ;  we  are  not  very  rich  folks,  but  we  have  not 
come  to  that  yet.  '  I'd  sell  my  kilts,  I'd  sell  my  shoon,'  as  the 
song  says,  before  I  touched  a  farthing  of  Janet's  money.  But  I 
had  to  take  it  from  her  so  as  not  to  offend  hei*.  It  is  wonderful, 
the  anxiety  and  affection  of  women  who  live  away  out  of  the 


83  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

AvorlJ  like  tliat.  Tlicrc  was  my  motlier,  quite  sure  that  somo' 
thing  awful  was  going  to  happen  to  me,  merely  because  I  was 
going  away  for  two  or  three  months.  And  Janet — I  suppose 
she  knew  that  our  family  never  was  very  good  at  saving  money 
— she  would  have  me  take  this  little  fortune  of  hers,  just  as  if 
the  old  days  were  come  back,  and  the  son  of  the  house  was  sup- 
posed to  go  to  Pai'is  to  gamble  away  every  penny." 

"  By-the-way,  Macleod,"  said  Ogilvie,  "  you  have  never  gone  to 
Paris,  as  you  intended." 

"No,"  said  he,  trying  to  balance  three  nectarines  one  on  the 
top  of  the  otlier,  "  I  have  not  gone  to  Paris.  I  have  made 
enough  friends  in  London.  I  have  had  plenty  to  occupy  the 
time.  And  now,  Ogilvie,"  he  added,  brightly,  "  I  am  going  in 
for  my  last  frolic,  before  everybody  has  left  London,  and  yoii 
must  come  to  it,  even  if  you  have  to  2:0  down  bv  your  cold-meat 
train  again.  You  know  Miss  Rawlinson ;  you  have  seen  her  at 
Mrs.  Ross's,  no  doubt.  Very  well ;  I  met  her  first  -wlien  we 
went  down  to  the  Thames  vacht  race,  and  afterward  we  became 
great  friends ;  and  the  dear  little  old  lady  already  looks  on  me 
as  if  I  were  her  son.  And  do  you  know  what  her  proposal  is  ? 
— that  she  is  to  give  me  up  her  house  and  garden  for  a  garden 
party,  and  I  am  to  ask  my  friends ;  and  it  is  to  be  a  dance  as 
well,  for  we  shall  ask  the  people  to  have  supper  at  eight  o'clock 
or  so ;  and  then  Ave  shall  have  a  marquee — and  the  garden  all 
lighted  up — do  you  see?  It  is  one  of  the  largest  gardens  on 
Campden  Hill;  and  the  colored  lamps  hung  on  the  trees  will 
make  it  look  very  fine ;  and  we  shall  have  a  baud  to  play  music 
for  the  dancers — " 

"  It  will  cost  you  £200  or  £300  at  least,"  said  Ogilvie,  sharply. 

"  What  then  ?  You  give  your  friends  a  pleasant  evening,  and 
you  show  them  that  you  are  not  ungrateful,"  said  Macleod. 

Ogilvie  began  to  ponder  over  this  matter.  The  stories  he  had 
heard  of  Macleod's  extravagant  entertainments  were  true,  then. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and  said, 

"  Is  Miss  White  to  be  one  of  your  guests  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  he.  "  The  theatre  will  be  closed  at  the  end 
of  this  week." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  a  good  many  times  to  the  theatre  ?" 

"To  the  Piccadilly  Theatre?" 

"  Yes." 


LAST    NKillTS.  89 

"  I  have  been  only  once  to  the  Piccadilly  Theatre — when  you 
and  I  went  together,"  said  Macieod,  coldly ;  and  they  spoke  no 
more  of  that  matter. 

By -and -by  they  thought  they  niiglit  as  well  smoke  outside, 
and  so  they  went  down  and  out  upon  the  high  and  walled  ter- 
race overlooking  the  broad  valley  of  the  Thames.  And  now  the 
moon  had  arisen  in  the  south,  and  the  winding  river  showed  a 
pale  gray  among  the  black  woods,  and  there  was  a  silvery  light 
on  the  stone  parapet  on  which  they  leaned  their  arms.  The  night 
was  mild  and  soft  and  clear;  there  was  an  intense  silence  around, 
but  they  heard  the  faint  sound  of  oars  far  away — some  boating 
party  getting  home  through  the  dark  shadows  of  the  river-side 
trees. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  life  you  have  here  in  the  South,"  Macieod 
said,  after  a  time,  "  though  I  can  imagine  that  the  women  enjoy 
it  more  than  the  men.  It  is  natural  for  women  to  enjoy  pretty 
colors,  and  flowers,  and  bright  lights,  and  music;  and  I  suppose 
it  is  the  mild  air  that  lets  their  eyes  grow  so  big  and  clear.  But 
the  men — I  should  think  they  must  get  tired  of  doing  notliing. 
They  are  rather  melancholy,  and  their  hands  are  white.  I  won- 
der they  don't  begin  to  hate  Hyde  Park,  and  kid  gloves,  and 
tight  boots.  Ogilvie,"  said  he,  suddenly,  straightening  liimsolf 
up,  "  what  do  you  say  to  the  12th?  A  few  breathers  over  Ben- 
an-Sloich  would  put  new  lungs  into  you.  I  don't  think  you  look 
quite  so  limp  as  most  of  the  London  men ;  but  still  you  are  not 
up  to  the  mark.  And  then  an  occasional  run  out  to  Coll  or  Tiree 
in  tliat  old  tub  of  ours,  with  a  brisk  sou'-wester  blowing  across — 
that  would  put  some  mettle  into  you.  Mind  you,  you  won't 
liave  any  grand  banquets  at  Castle  Dare.  I  think  it  is  hard  on 
the  poor  old  mother  that  she  should  have  all  the  pinching,  and 
none  of  the  squandering ;  but  Avomen  seem  to  have  rather  a  lik- 
ing for  these  sacrifices,  and  both  she  and  Janet  are  very  proud  of 
the  family  name ;  I  believe  they  would  live  on  sea-weed  for  a 
year  if  only  their  representative  in  London  could  take  Bucking- 
ham Palace  for  the  season.  And  Ilamish — don't  you  remember 
Ilamish?  —  he  will  give  you  a  liearty  welcome  to  Dare,  and  he 
will  tell  3'ou  the  truth  about  any  salmon  or  stag  you  may  kill, 
though  he  was  never  known  to  come  within  five  pounds  of  the 
real  weight  of  any  big  salmon  I  ever  caught.  Now,  then,  what 
do  you  say  ?" 


90  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  Ah,  it  is  all  very  well,"  said  Lieutenant  Ogilvic.  "  If  we 
could  all  get  what  we  v/ant,  there  would  scarcely  be  an  officer  in 
Aldershot  Camp  on  the  12th  of  August.  Bat  I  must  say  there 
arc  some  capitally  good  fellows  in  our  mess — and  it  isn't  every 
one  o'ets  the  cl'.ance  vou  offer  me — and  there's  none  of  the  dofj- 
in-the-manger  feeling  about  them :  in  short,  I  do  believe,  Mac- 
leod,  that  I  could  get  off  for  a  week  or  so  about  the  20th." 

"The  20th?  8o  be  it.  Then  you  will  have  the  blackcock 
added  in." 

"  When  do  you  leave  T' 

"On  the  1st  of  August — the  morning  after  my  garden  party. 
You  must  come  to  it,  Ogilvie.  Lady  Beauregard  has  persuaded 
her  husband  to  put  off  their  going  to  Ireland  for  three  days  in 
order  to  come.  And  I  have  got  old  Admiral  Maitlaud  coming — 
with  his  stories  of  the  press-gang,  and  of  Nelson,  and  of  the  raids 
on  the  merchant-ships  for  officers  for  the  navy.  Did  you  know 
that  Miss  Rawlinson  Avas  an  old  sweetheart  of  his  ?  He  knew 
her  when  she  lived  in  Jamaica  with  her  father — several  centuries 
ago  you  would  think,  judging  by  their  stories.  Her  father  got 
£28,000  from  the  government  when  his  slaves  were  emancipated. 
I  wish  I  could  get  the  old  admiral  up  to  Dare  —  he  and  the 
mother  would  have  some  stories  to  tell,  I  think.  But  you  don't 
like  long  journeys  at  ninety-two." 

He  v.'as  in  a  pleasant  and  talkative  humor,  this  bright-faced 
and  stalwart  young  fellow,  with  his  proud,  fine  features  and  his 
careless  air.  One  could  easily  see  how  these  old  folks  had  made 
a  sort  of  pet  of  him.  But  while  he  went  on  with  this  desultory 
chatting  about  the  various  people  whom  he  had  met,  and  the 
friendly  invitations  he  had  received,  and  the  hopes  he  had  formed 
of  renewing  his  acquaintanceship  with  this  person  and  the  next 
person,  should  chance  bring  liini  again  to  London  soon,  he  never 
once  mentioned  the  name  of  Miss  Gertrude  White,  or  referred  to 
her  family,  or  even  to  her  public  appearances,  about  which  there 
was  plenty  of  talk  at  this  time.  Yet  Lieutenant  Ogilvie,  on  his 
rare  visits  to  London,  had  more  than  once  heard  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod's  name  mentioned  in  conjunction  v.ith  that  of  the  young 
actress  whom  society  was  pleased  to  regard  with  a  special  and 
unusual  favor  just  then ;  and  once  or  twice  lie,  as  Maclcod's 
friend,  had  been  archly  questioned  on  the  subject  by  some  in^ 
quisitivc  laily,  whose  eyes  asked  more  than   her   words.      But 


LAST    NIGHTS.  91 

Lieutenant  Ogilvie  was  gravely  discreet.  lie  neitlicr  treated  the 
matter  with  ridicule,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  did  he  pretend  to 
know  more  tlian  he  actually  knew — which  w'as  literally  nothing 
at  all.  For  Macleod,  who  was,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  any- 
thing but  a  reserved  or  austere  person,  was  on  this  subject  strictly 
silent,  evading  questions  with  a  proud  and  simple  dignity  that 
forbade  the  repetition  of  them.  "  The  thing  that  concerns  you 
not,  meddle  not  with ;"  he  observed  the  maxim  himself,  and  ex- 
pected others  to  do  the  like. 

It  was  an  early  dinner  they  had  had,  after  their  stroll  in  Rich- 
mond Park ;  and  it  was  a  comparatively  early  train  that  Macleod 
and  his  friend  now  drove  down  to  catch,  after  he  had  paid  his 
bill.  When  they  reached  Waterloo  Station  it  was  not  yet  eleven 
o'clock ;  when  he,  having  bade  good-bye  to  Ogilvie,  got  to  his 
rooms  in  Bury  Street,  it  was  but  a  few  minutes  after.  Ho  was 
joyfully  welcomed  by  his  faithfnl  friend  Oscar. 

"  You  poor  dog,"  said  he,  "  here  have  we  been  enjoying  our- 
selves all  the  day,  and  you  have  been  in  prison.  Come,  shall  wc 
go  for  a  run  ?" 

Oscar  jumped  up  on  him  with  a  wliine  of  delight ;  he  knew 
what  that  taking  up  of  the  hat  again  meant.  And  then  there 
was  a  silent  stealing  down-stairs,  and  a  slight,  pardonable  bark  of 
joy  in  the  hall,  and  a  wild  dash  into  the  freedom  of  the  narrow 
street  when  the  door  was  opened.  Then  Oscar  moderated  his 
transports,  aud  kept  pretty  close  to  his  master  as  together  they 
began  to  wander  through  the  desert  wilds  of  London. 

Piccadilly  ? — Oscar  had  grown  as  expert  in  avoiding  the  rat- 
tlinof  brouf>-hams  and  hansoms  as  the  veriest  mongrel  that  ever 
led  a  vagrant  life  in  London  streets.  Berkeley  Square? — here 
there  v.as  comparative  quiet,  with  the  gas -lamps  shining  up  on 
the  thick  foliage  of  the  maples.  In  Grosvenor  Square  he  had  a 
bit  of  a  scamper;  but  there  was  no  rabbit  to  hunt.  In  Oxford 
Street  his  master  took  him  into  a  public-house  and  gave  him  a 
biscuit  and  a  drink  of  water ;  after  that  his  spirits  rose  a  bit,  and 
he  began  to  range  ahead  in  Baker  Street.  But  did  Oscar  know 
any  more  than  his  master  why  they  had  taken  this  direction  ? 

Still  farther  north ;  and  now  there  were  a  good  many  trees 
about ;  and  the  moon,  high  in  the  heavens,  touched  the  trembling 
foliage,  and  shone  white  on  the  front  of  the  houses.  Oscar  was 
a  friendly  companion ;  but  he  could  not  be  expected  to  notice 


92  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

that  his  master  glanced  somewbat  nervously  along  Soutli  Bank 
when  he  had  reached  the  entrance  to  that  thoroughfare.  Appar- 
ently the  place  was  quite  deserted  ;  there  was  nothing  visible  but 
the  walls,  trees,  and  houses,  one  side  in  black  shadow,  the  other 
shilling  cold  and  pale  in  the  moonlight.  After  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation Macleod  resumed  his  walk,  though  he  seemed  to  tread 
more  softly. 

And  now,  in  the  perfect  silence,  he  nearcd  a  certain  bouse, 
thouo-li  but  little  of  it  was  visible  over  the  wall  and  through  the 
trees.  Did  he  expect  to  sec  a  light  in  one  of  these  upper  win- 
dows, which  the  drooping  acacias  did  not  altogether  conceal  ? 
He  walked  quickly  by,  with  bis  head  averted.  Oscar  l)ad  got  a 
good  way  in  front,  not  doubting  that  his  master  was  following 
him. 

l)ut  Macleod,  perliaps  having  mustered  up  further  courage, 
stopped  in  his  walk,  and  returned.  This  time  be  passed  more 
slowly,  and  turned  his  head  to  the  bouse,  as  if  listening.  There 
was  no  light  in  tlic  windows;  there  was  no  sound  at  all;  there 
was  no  motion  but  that  of  the  trembling  acacia  leaves  as  the  cold 
wind  of  the  night  stirred  them.  And  then  be  passed  over  to 
the  south  side  of  the  thoroughfare,  and  stood  in  the  black  shad- 
ow of  a  high  wall ;  and  Oscar  came  and  looked  up  into  bis  face. 

A  brougliam  rattled  by ;  then  there  was  utter  stillness  again  ; 
and  the  moonlight  shone  on  the  front  of  the  small  bouse,  which 
was  to  all  appearance  as  lifeless  as  the  grave.  Then,  far  away, 
twelve  o'clock  struck,  and  the  sound  seemed  distant  as  the  sound 
of  a  bell  at  sea  in  this  intense  quiet. 

He  was  alone  with  the  niglit,  and  with  the  dreams  and  fancies 
of  the  night.  Would  he,  then,  confess  to  himself  that  which  he 
would  confess  to  no  other?  Or  was  it  merely  some  passing 
whim  —  some  slight  underehord  of  sentiment  struck  amidst  the 
careless  joy  of  a  young  man's  holiday — that  had  led  him  up  into 
this  silent  region  of  trees  and  moonlight?  The  scene  around 
him  was  romantic  enough,  but  he  certainly  had  not  the  features 
of  an  anguish-stricken  lover. 

Again  the  silence  of  tlic  night  was  broken  by  the  rumbling  of 
a  cab  that  came  along  the  road;  and  nov.^,  whatever  may  have 
been  the  fancy  that  brought  him  hither,  he  turned  to  leave,  and 
Oscar  joyfully  bounded  out  into  the  road.  But  the  cab,  instead 
of  continuing  its  route,  stopped  at  the  gate  of  the  liouse  be  bad 


A    FLOWER.  93 

been  watcliintjf,  and  two  yoiinij;  ladies  stepped  out.  Fionaglial, 
the  Fail-  Stranger,  had  not,  tlien,  been  \vanderin<i;  in  the  encliant- 
ed  land  of  dreams,  but  toiling  liome  in  a  humble  four-wheeler 
from  the  scene  of  her  anxious  labors?  He  would  Lave  slunk 
away  rapidly  but  for  an  untoward  accident.  Oscar,  ranging  up 
and  down,  came  upon  an  old  friend,  and  instantly  made  acquaint- 
ance with  her,  on  seeing  which,  Macleod,  with  deep  vexation  at 
liis  heart,  but  with  a  pleasant  and  careless  face,  had  to  walk  along 
also. 

"  What  an  odd  meeting  I"  said  he.  "  I  have  been  giving  Os- 
car a  run.  I  am  glad  to  have  a  chance  of  bidding  you  good- 
night.    You  are  not  very  tired,  I  hope." 

"  I  am  rather  tired,"  said  she ;  "  but  I  have  only  two  more 
nights,  and  then  my  holiday  begins." 

He  shook  hands  with  both  sisters,  and  wished  them  good- 
night, and  departed.  As  Miss  Gertrude  AVhite  went  into  lier 
father's  house  she  seemed  rather  grave. 

"  Gerty,"  said  the  younger  sister,  as  slie  screwed  up  the  gas, 
"  wouldn't  the  name  of  Lady  Macleod  look  well  in  a  play-bill?" 

The  elder  sister  would  not  answer;  but  as  she  turned  away 
there  was  a  quick  flush  of  color  in  her  face — whether  caused  by 
anger  or  by  a  sudden  revelation  of  her  own  thought  it  was  im- 
possible to  say. 


CHAPTEIl  XT. 

A    FLOWER. 

The  many  friends  Macleod  had  made  in  the  South — or  rather 
those  of  them  who  had  remained  in  town  till  the  end  of  the  sea- 
son— showed  an  unwonted  interest  in  this  nondescript  party  of 
his ;  and  it  was  at  a  comparatively  early  hour  in  the  evening  that 
the  various  groups  of  people  began  to  show  themselves  in  Miss 
Rawlinson's  garden.  That  prim  old  lady,  with  her  quick,  bright 
ways,  and  her  humorous  little  speeches,  studiously  kept  herself 
in  the  background.  It  was  Sir  Keith  Macleod  who  was  the  liost. 
And  when  he  remarked  to  her  that  lie  thought  the  most  beauti- 
ful night  of  all  the  beautiful  time  ho  had  spent  in  the  Sonth  itad 
been  reserved  for  tliis  very  ]iarty,  she  replied — looking  round  tiic 


94  MACLEOD    OV    DAltE. 

garden  just  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  his  guests — tliat  it  was  a 
pretty  scene.  And  it  Avas  a  pretty  scene.  The  last  fire  of  the 
sunset  was  just  touching  the  topmost  branches  of  the  trees.  In 
the  colder  shade  below,  the  banks  and  beds  of  flowers  and  the 
costumes  of  the  ladies  acquired  a  strange  intensity  of  color. 
Then  there  was  a  band  playing,  and  a  good  deal  of  chatting  go- 
ing on,  and  one  old  gentleman  with  a  grizzled  mustache  humbly 
receiving  lessons  in  lawn  tennis  from  an  imperious  small  maiden 
of  ten.  Macleod  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  The  lanterns 
were  to  bo  lit  while  the  people  were  in  at  supper.  Lieutenant 
Ogilvie  was  directed  to  take  in  Lady  Beauregard  when  the  time 
arrived. 

"You  must  take  hw  in  yourself,  Macleod,"  said  that  properly 
constituted  youth.  "  If  you  outrage  the  sacred  laws  of  prece- 
dence— " 

"  I  mean  to  take  Miss  Rawlinson  in  to  supper,"  said  Macleod  ; 
"  she  is  the  oldest  woman  here,  and,  I  think,  my  best  friend." 

"  I  thought  you  might  wish  to  give  Miss  White  the  place  of 
honor,"  said  Ogilvie,  out  of  sheer  impertinence ;  but  Macleod 
went  off  to  order  the  candles  to  be  lit  in  the  marquee,  where  sup- 
per was  laid. 

By -and -by  he  came  out  again.  And  now  the  twilight  had 
drawn  on  apace;  there  was  a  cold,  clear  light  in  the  skies,  while 
at  the  same  moment  a  red  glow  began  to  shine  through  the  can- 
vas of  the  long  tent.  He  walked  over  to  one  little  group  who 
were  seated  on  a  garden  chair. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  have  got  pretty  nearly  all  my  people  to- 
gether now,  Mrs.  Ross." 

"  But  where  is  Gertrude  "White  ?"  said  Mrs.  Ross ;  "  surely  she 
is  to  be  here?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  so,"  said  he.  "  Iler  father  and  herself 
both  promised  to  come.  You  know  her  holidays  have  begun 
now." 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  for  that  girl,"  said  Miss  Rawlinson,  in  her 
quick,  staccato  fashion,  "that  she  has  few  holidays.  Very  good 
thing  she  has  her  work  to  mind.     The  way  people  run  after  her 

would  turn  any  woman's  head.     The  Grand  Duke is  said 

to  have  declared  that  she  w'as  one  of  the  three  prettiest  women 
he  saw  in  England:  what  oan  )'ou  export  if  things  like  that  get 
to  a  girl':'  oars?" 


A    FLOW  Kit.  05 

"But  you  know  Gcrty  is  quite  unspoiled,"  said  Mr?.  Uoss, 
v/aruily. 

"Yes,  so  far,"  said  the  old  lady.  "So  far  she  retains  tlie 
courtesy  of  being  hypocritical." 

"Oh,  Miss  Rawliuson,  I  won't  have  you  say  such  things  of 
Gerty  AVhitcl"  Mrs.  Ross  protested.  "You  are  a  wicked  old 
woman — isn't  she,  Hugh  ?" 

"  I  am  saying  it  to  her  credit,"  continued  the  old  lady,  with 
much  composure.  "  What  I  say  is,  that  most  pretty  women  who 
arc  much  run  after  arc  flattered  into  frankness.  When  they  are 
introduced  to  you,  they  don't  take  the  trouble  to  conceal  that 
they  are  quite  indifferent  to  you.  A  plain  woman  will  be  de- 
cently civil,  and  will  smile,  and  pretend  she  is  pleased.  A  beau- 
ty— a  recognized  beauty — doesn't  take  the  trouble  to  be  hypo- 
critical.    Now  Miss  White  does." 

"  It  is  an  odd  sort  of  compliment,"  said  Colonel  Ross,  laugh- 
ing.    "  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Macleod  ?" 

"These  are  too  great  refinements  for  my  comprehension,"  said 
he,  modestly.  "I  think  if  a  pretty  woman  is  uncivil  to  you,  it 
is  easy  for  you  to  turn  on  your  heel  and  go  away." 

"  I  did  not  say  uncivil — don't  you  go  misrepresenting  a  poor 
old  woman,  Sir  Keith.  I  said  she  is  most  likely  to  be  flattered 
into  being  honest — into  showing  a  stranger  that  she  is  quite  in- 
different, whereas  a  plain  woman  will  try  to  make  herself  a  little 
agreeable.  Now  a  poor  lone  creature  like  myself  likes  to  fancy 
that  people  arc  glad  to  see  her,  and  Miss  White  pretends  as  much. 
It  is  very  kind.  By-and-by  she  will  get  spoiled  like  the  rest, 
and  then  she  will  become  honest.  She  will  shake  hands  Avith 
me,  and  then  turn  off,  as  much  as  to  say,  *  Go  away,  you  ugly 
old  woman,  for  I  can't  be  bothered  witli  you,  and  I  don't  expect 
any  money  from  you,  and  why  should  I  pretend  to  like  you?'" 

All  this  v^as  said  in  a  half-jesting  v/ay ;  and  it  certainly  did 
not  at  all  represent — so  far  as  Macleod  had  ever  made  out — the 
real  opinions  of  her  neighbors  in  the  world  held  by  this  really 
kind  and  gentle  old  lady.  Bat  Macleod  had  noticed  before  that 
Miss  Rawlinson  never  spoke  with  any  great  warmth  about  Miss 
Gertrude  White's  beauty,  or  her  acting,  or  anything  at  all  con- 
nected with  her.  At  this  very  moment,  when  she  was  apparently 
praising  the  young  lady,  there  was  a  bitter  flavor  about  what  she 
said.     There  may  be  jealousy  between  sixty -five  and  nineteen ; 


00  MACLEOD    OF    DARK. 

and  if  this  reflection  occurred  to  Macleod,  be  no  doubt  assumed 
tliat  Miss  Rawlinson,  if  jealous  at  all,  was  jealous  of  Miss  Ger- 
trude White's  influence  over — Mrs.  Ross. 

"As  for  Miss  White's  father,"  continued  the  old  lady,  with  a 
little  laugh,  "perhaps  be  believes  in  those  sublime  theories  of 
art  he  is  always  preaching  about.  Perhaps  he  docs.  They  are 
very  fine.  One  result  of  them  is  that  his  daugliter  remains  on 
the  stage — and  earns  a  handsome  income — and  he  enjoys  himself 
in  picking  up  bits  of  curiosities." 

"  Now  that  is  really  unfair,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  seriously.  "  Mr. 
White  is  not  a  rich  man,  but  he  has  some  small  means  that 
render  him  quite  independent  of  any  income  of  his  daughter's. 
Why,  how  did  they  live  before  they  ever  thought  of  letting  her 
try  her  fortune  on  the  stage  ?  And  the  money  he  spent,  when  it 
was  at  last  decided  she  should  be  carefully  taught — " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Miss  Rawlinson,  with  a  smile ;  but  she 
nodded  her  head  ominously.  If  that  old  man  was  not  actually 
living  on  his  daughter's  earnings,  he  had  at  least  strangled  his 
mother,  or  robbed  the  Bank  of  Eno-land,  or  done  somethino-  or 
other.  Miss  Rawlinson  was  obviously  not  well  disposed  either 
to  Mr.  White  or  to  his  daughter. 

At  this  very  moment  both  these  persons  made  their  appear- 
ance, and  certainly,  as  this  slender  and  graceful  figure,  clad  in 
a  pale  summer  costume,  came  across  the  lawn,  and  as  a  smile  of 
recognition  lit  up  the  intelligent  fine  face,  these  critics  sitting 
there  must  have  acknowledged  that  Gertrude  White  was  a  singu- 
larly pretty  woman.  And  then  the  fascination  of  that  low-toned 
voice !  She  began  to  explain  to  Macleod  why  they  were  so  late : 
some  trifling  accident  had  happened  to  Carry.  But  as  these 
simple,  pathetic  tones  told  him  the  story,  his  heart  was  filled 
with  a  great  gentleness  and  pity  toward  that  poor  victim  of  mis- 
fortune, lie  was  struck  with  remorse  because  he  had  sometimes 
thought  harshly  of  the  poor  child  on  account  of  a  mere  occa- 
sional bit  of  pertness.  His  first  message  from  the  Ilighlanda 
would  be  to  her. 

"  0,  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut," 

the  band  played  merrily,  as  the  gay  company  took  their  seats  at 
the  long  banquet-table,  Macleod  leading  in  the  prim  old  dame 
who  had  placed  her  house  at  his  disposal.  There  was  a  blaze 
of  light  and  color  in  this  spacious  marquee.     Bands  of  scarlet 


A    FLOWKK.  97 

took  the  place  of  oakcii  rafters ;  tlicrc  were  huge  blocks  of  ice 
on  the  tabic,  each  set  in  a  miniature  lake  that  was  filled  with 
white  water-lilies ;  there  were  masses  of  flowers  and  frujt  from 
one  end  to  the  other ;  and  by  the  side  of  each  menu  lay  a  tioy 
nosegay,  iu  the  centre  of  which  was  a  sprig  of  bell-heather.  This 
last  was  a  notion  of  Macleod's  amiable  hostess;  she  had  made  uj) 
these  miniature  bouquets  licrself.  But  she  had  been  forestalled 
in  the  pretty  compliment.  Macleod  had  not  seen  much  of  Miss 
Gertrude  White  in  the  cold  twilight  outside.  Now,  in  this  blaze 
of  yellow  light,  he  turned  his  eyes  to  her,  as  she  sat  there  de- 
murely flirting  with  an  old  admiral  of  ninety-two,  who  was  one 
of  Macleod's  special  friends.  And  what  was  that  flower  she  wore 
in  her  bosom — the  sole  piece  of  color  in  the  costume  of  white? 
That  was  no  sprig  of  blood-red  bell-heather,  but  a  bit  of  real 
heather — of  the  common  ling;  and  it  was  set  amidst  a  few  leaves 
of  juniper.  Now,  the  juniper  is  the  badge  of  the  Clan  Macleod. 
She  wore  it  next  her  heart. 

There  was  laughter,  and  wine,  and  merry  talking. 

"  Last  May  a  braw  wooer," 

the  band  played  now  ;  but  thoy  scarcely  listened. 

"  AVhere  is  your  piper.  Sir  Keith  ?"  said  Lady  Beauregard. 

"At  this  moment,"  said  he,  "I  should  not  wonder  if  lie  was 
down  at  the  shore,  waiting  for  me." 

"  You  are  going  away  quite  soon,  then  ?" 

"To-morrow.  But  I  don't  wish  to  speak  of  it.  I  should  like 
to-niffht  to  last  forever." 

Lady  Beauregard  was  interrupted  by  her  neighbor. 

"  What  has  pleased  you,  then,  so  much  ?"  said  his  hostess,  look- 
ing up  at  him.  "  London?  Or  the  people  in  it?  Or  any  one 
person  in  it  ?" 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  laughingly,  "  the  whole  thing.  What  is  the 
nse  of  dissecting?  It  is  nothing  but  holiday -making  in  this 
place.  Now,  Miss  Rawlinson,  are  you  brave  ?  Won't  you  chal- 
lenge the  admiral  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  you?  And  you 
must  include  his  companion — just  as  they  do  at  the  city  dinners 
— and  I  will  join  too." 

And  so  these  old  sweethearts  drank  to  each  other.  And  Mac- 
leod raised  his  glass  too ;  and  Miss  White  lowered  her  eyes,  and 
perhaps  flushed  a  little  as  she  touched  liers  with  her  lips,  for  she 


98  MACLEOD    OF    DARK. 

bad  not  often  been  asked  to  talcc  a  part  in  tliis  old-fasliioncd  cer- 
emony. But  that  was  not  the  only  custom  they  revived  that 
eveninf^.  After  the  banquet  was  over,  and  the  ladies  had  got 
some  light  shawls  and  gone  out  into  the  mild  summer  night,  and 
v/hen  the  long  marquee  was  cleared,  and  the  band  installed  at  the 
farther  end,  then  there  was  a  murmured  talk  of  a  minuet.  Who 
could  dance  it  ?     Should  they  try  it  ? 

"  You  know  it  ?"  said  Macleod  to  Miss  White. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  looking  down. 

"  AVill  you  be  my  partner  ?" 

"  With  pleasure,"  she  answered,  but  there  was  some  little  sur- 
prise in  her  voice,  which  he  at  once  detected. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  the  mother  taught  me  when  I  was  a  child. 
She  and  I  used  to  have  grand  dances  together.  And  llamish  he 
taught  me  the  sword-dance." 

"  Do  yon  know  the  sword-dance  ?"  she  said. 

"Any  one  can  know  it,"  said  he;  "it  is  more  difficult  to  do 
it.  But  at  one  time  I  could  dance  it  with  four  of  the  thickest- 
handled  dirks  instead  of  the  two  swords." 

"I  hope  you  will  show  us  your  skill  to-night," she  said,  with  a 
smile. 

"Do  yon  tliink  any  one  can  dance  the  sword-dance  without 
the  pipes  ?"  said  he,  quite  simply. 

And  now  some  of  the  younger  people  had  made  bold  to  try 
this  minuet,  and  Macleod  led  his  partner  up  to  the  bead  of  the 
improvised  ball-room,  and  the  slow  and  graceful  music  began. 
That  was  a  pretty  sight  for  those  walking  outside  in  the  garden. 
So  warm  was  the  night  that  the  canvas  of  one  side  of  the  mar- 
quee had  been  removed,  and  those  walking  about  in  the  dark  out- 
side could  look  into  this  gayly  lighted  place  with  the  beautifully 
colored  figures  moving  to  the  slow  music.  And  as  they  thus 
walked  along  the  gravel-paths,  or  nnder  the  trees,  tlie  stems  of 
which  were  decorated  with  spirals  of  colored  lamps,  a  new  light 
arose  in  the  south  to  shed  a  further  magic  over  the  scene.  Al- 
most red  at  first,  the  full  moon  cleared  as  it  rose,  until  the  trees 
and  bushes  were  touched  with  a  silver  radiance,  and  the  few  peo- 
ple who  walked  al)out  threw  black  shadows  on  the  greensward 
and  gravel.  Tn  an  arbor  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  garden  a 
number  of  Chinese  lanterns  shed  a  dim  colored  light  on  a  table 
and  a  few  rocking-chairs.     There  were  cigarettes  on  the  table. 


A    FLOWliU.  Uy 

By-and-by  from  out  of  the  brilliancy  of  the  tent  stepped  Mac- 
lood  and  Fionao;hal  licrself,  slic  leaning;  on  his  arm,  a  liu'lit  scarf 
thrown  round  her  neck.  She  uttered  a  slight  cry  of  surprise 
when  she  saw  the  picture  this  garden  presented  —  the  colored 
cups  on  the  trees,  the  swinging  lanterns,  the  broader  sheen  of  the 
moonlight  spreading  over  the  foliage,  and  the  lawn,  and  the 
walks. 

"  It  is  like  fairy-land  !"  she  said. 

They  walked  along  the  winding  gravel-paths ;  and  now  that 
some  familiar  quadrille  was  being  danced  in  that  brilliant  tent, 
there  were  fewer  people  out  here  in  the  moonlight. 

"  I  should  begin  to  believe  that  romance  was  possible,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile,  "  if  I  often  saw  a  beautiful  scene  like  this.  It  is 
wliat  we  try  to  get  in  the  theatre ;  but  I  see  all  the  bare  boards 
and  tlie  lime  light — I  don't  have  a  chance  of  believing  in  it." 

"  Do  you  have  a  chance  of  believing  in  anything,"  said  he,  "  on 
the  stage?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said,  gently ;  for  she  was  sure 
be  would  not  mean  the  rudeness  that  his  words  literally  conveyed. 

"And  perhaps  I  cannot  explain,"  said  he.  "But — but  your 
father  was  talking  the  other  day  about  your  giving  yourself  up 
altogether  to  your  art — living  the  lives  of  other  people  for  the 
time  being,  forgetting  yourself,  sacrificing  yourself,  having  no  life 
of  your  own  but  that.  What  must  the  end  of  it  be  ? — that  you 
play  with  emotions  and  beliefs  until  you  have  no  faith  in  any 
one — none  left  for  yourself;  it  is  only  the  material  of  your  art. 
Would  you  not  rather  like  to  live  your  own  life?" 

He  had  spoken  rather  hesitatingly,  and  he  was  not  at  all  sure 
that  he  had  quite  conveyed  to  lier  his  meaning,  though  he  had 
thought  over  the  subject  long  enough  and  often  enough  to  get 
his  own  impressions  of  it  clear. 

If  she  had  been  ten  years  older,  and  an  experienced  coquette, 
she  would  have  said  to  herself,  "  This  man  hates  the  stage  because 
he  is  jealous  of  its  hold  on  my  life^''  and  she  would  have  rejoiced 
over  the  inadvertent  confession.  But  now  these  hesitating  words 
of  his  seemed  to  have  awakened  some  quick  responsive  thrill  in 
lier  nature,  for  she  suddenly  said,  Avitli  an  earnestness  that  was 
not  at  all  assumed  : 

"  Sometimes  I  have  thought  of  that — it  is  so  strange  to  hear 
my  own  doubts  repeated.     If  I  could  choose  my  own  life — yes, 


100  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

I  would  ratlicr  live  that  out  tliau  merely  iinao'ining  the  cxpcii- 
ences  of  others.  But  what  is  one  to  do  ?  You  look  arouud,  and 
take  the  world  as  it  is.  Can  anything  be  more  trivial  and  dis- 
appointing ?  When  you  are  Juliet  in  the  balcony,  or  Rosalind  in 
the  forest,  then  you  have  some  better  feeling  within  you,  if  it  is 
only  for  an  hour  or  so." 

"  Yes,"  said  he  ;  "  and  you  go  on  indulging  in  those  doses  of 
fictitious  sentiment  until —  But  I  am  afraid  the  night  air  is  too 
cold  for  you.     Shall  we  go  back  ?" 

She  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  trace  of  bitterness,  and  subse- 
quent coldness,  with  which  he  spoke.  She  knew  that  he  must 
have  been  thinking  deeply  over  this  matter,  and  that  it  Avas  no 
ordinary  thing  that  caused  him  to  speak  with  so  much  feeling. 
But,  of  course,  when  he  proposed  that  they  should  return  to  the 
marquee,  she  consented.  He  could  not  expect  her  to  stand  there 
and  defend  her  whole  manner  of  life.  Much  less  could  he  expect 
her  to  give  up  her  profession  merely  because  he  had  exercised  his 
wits  in  getting  up  some  fantastic  theory  about  it.  And  she  be- 
gan to  think  that  he  had  no  right  to  talk  to  her  in  this  bitter 
fashion. 

When  they  had  got  half-way  back  to  the  tent,  he  paused  for  a 
moment.- 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  have  spent  a  pleasant  time  in  England,  and  T  cannot  tell  you 
how  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  letting  me  become  one  of  your 
fiiends.  To-morrow  morning  I  am  going  back  home.  I  should 
like  you  to  give  me  that  flower — as  some  little  token  of  remem- 
brance." 

The  small  fingers  did  not  tremble  at  all  as  she  took  the  flower 
from  her  dress.  She  presented  it  to  him  with  a  charming  smile, 
and  without  a  word.  What  was  the  giving  of  a  flower  ?  There 
was  a  cart-load  of  roses  in  the  tent. 

But  this  flower  she  had  worn  next  her  heart. 


WHITE    HEATHER.  101 


CHAPTER  Xir. 

W  II  I  T  E     n  E  A  T  II  E  R , 

And  now  behold !  the  red  flag  flying  from  the  summit  of  Cas- 
tle Dare — a  spot  of  brilliant  color- in  this  world  cf  whirling  mist 
and  flashing  sunlight.  For  there  is  half  a  gale  blowing  in  from 
the  Atlantic,  and  gusty  clouds  come  sweeping  over  the  islands,  so 
that  now  the  Dutchman,  and  now  Fladda,  and  nuw  Ulva  disap- 
pears from  sight,  and  then  emerges  into  the  sunlight  again,  drip- 
ping and  shining  after  the  bath,  while  ever  and  anon  the  huge 
{ironiontory  of  Ku-Treshanish  shows  a  gloomy  purple  far  in  the 
nortli.  But  the  wind  and  the  weather  may  do  what  they  like  to- 
day ;  for  has  not  the  word  just  come  down  from  the  hill  that  the 
smoke  of  the  steamer  lias  been  made  out  in  the  south  ?  and  old 
Ilaniish  is  flying  this  way  and  that,  fairly  at  his  wits'  end  with 
excitement;  and  Janet  Macleod  has  cast  a  last  look  at  the  deco- 
rations of  heather  and  juniper  in  the  great  hall ;  while  Lady  Mac- 
leod, dressed  in  the  most  stately  fashion,  has  declared  that  she  is 
as  able  as  the  youngest  of  them  to  walk  down  to  the  point  to 
welcome  home  her  son. 

"Ay,  your  Icddyship,  it  is  very  bad,"  complains  the  disti acted 
Ilamish,  "that  it  will  be  so  rough  a  day  this  day,  and  Sir  Keith 
not  to  come  ashore  in  his  own  gig,  but  in  a  fishing-boat,  and  to 
como  ashore  at  the  fishing  quay,  too ;  but  it  is  his  own  men  will 
go  out  for  him,  and  not  the  fishermen  at  all,  though  I  am  sure 
they  will  hef  a  dram  whatever  when  Sir  Keith  comes  ashore. 
And  will  you  not  tek  the  pony,  your  leddyship  ?  for  it  is  a  long 
road  to  the  quay." 

"  No,  I  will  not  take  the  pony,  Ilamish,"  said  the  tall,  white- 
haired  dame,  "  and  it  is  not  of  much  consequence  what  boat  Sir 
Keith  has,  so  long  as  he  comes  back  to  us.  And  now  I  think 
you  had  better  go  down  to  the  quay  yourself,  and  see  that  the 
cart  is  waiting  and  the  boat  ready." 

But  how  could  old  Ilamish  go  down  to  the  quay  ?  He  was  in 
his  own  person  skipper,  head  keeper,  steward,  butler,  and  general 


102  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

major-domo,  and  ought  on  such  a  day  as  this  to  have  been  in  lialf 
a  dozen  places  at  once.  From  the  earliest  morning  he  had  been 
hurrying  hither  and  thither,  in  his  impatience  making  use  of  much 
voluble  Gaelic.  He  had  seen  the  yacht's  crew  in  tlieir  new  jer- 
seys. He  had  been  round  the  kennels.  He  had  got  out  a  cou[>le 
of  bottles  of  the  best  claret  that  Castle  Dare  could  afford.  lie 
had  his  master's  letters  arranged  on  the  library  table,  and  liad 
given  a  final  rub  to  the  guns  and  rifles  on  the  rack.  He  had 
even  been  down  to  the  quay,  swearing  at  the  salmon-fishers  for 
having  so  much  lumber  lying  about  the  place  where  Sir  Keith 
Macleod  was  to  land.  And  if  he  was  to  go  down  to  the  quay 
now,  how  could  he  be  sure  that  the  ancient  Christina,  who  was 
mistress  of  the  kitchen  as  far  as  her  husband  Ilamish  would  al- 
low her  to  be,  would  remember  all  his  instructions  ?  And  then 
the  little  granddaughter  Christina — would  she  remember  her  part 
in  the  ceremony  ? 

However,  as  Hamisli  could  not  be  in  six  places  at  once,  he  de- 
cided to  obey  his  mistress's  directions,  and  v.ent  hurriedly  off  to 
the  quay,  overtaking  on  his  way  Donald  the  piper  lad,  who  was 
apparelled  in  all  his  professional  finery. 

"And  if  ever  you  put  wind  in  your  pipes,  you  will  put  wind 
in  your  pipes  this  day,  Donald,"  said  he  to  the  red-haired  lad. 
"And  I  will  tell  you  now  what  you  will  play  when  you  come 
ashore  from  the  steamer:  it  is  the  'Farewell  to  Chubraltar'  you 
will  play." 

"  The  '  Farewell  to  Gibraltar !'  said  Donald,  peevishly,  for  he 
was  bound  in  lionor  to  let  no  man  interfere  with  his  proper  busi- 
ness. "  It  is  o,  better  march  than  that  I  will  play,  Hamish.  It  is 
tlie  '  Heights  of  Alma,'  that  was  made  by  Mr.  Ross,  the  Queen's 
own  piper;  and  will  you  tell  me  that  the  'Heights  of  Alma'  is 
not  a  better  march  than  the  'Farewell  to  Gibraltar?'" 

Ilamish  protended  to  pay  no  heed  to  this  impertinent  boy. 
His  eye  was  fixed  on  a  distant  black  speck  that  was  becoming 
more  and  luore  pronounced  out  there  amidst  tlie  grays  and  greens 
of  the  windy  and  sunlit  sea.  Occasionally  it  disappeared  alto- 
gether, as  a  cloud  of  rain  swept  across  toward  the  giant  cliffs  of 
Mull,  and  then  again  it  would  appear,  sharper  and  blacker  than 
ever,  while  the  masts  and  funnel  were  now  visible  as  well  as  the 
hulk  When  Donald  and  his  companion  got  down  to  the  quay, 
they  found  the  men  already  in  the  big  boat,  getting  ready  to  hoist 


WHITE    IIEATHEU.  103 

tlic  liuge  brown  lug-sail ;  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  laugliing 
and  talking  going  on,  perhaps  in  anticipation  of  the  dram  they 
were  sure  to  got  when  their  master  returned  to  Castle  Dare. 
Donald  jumped  down  on  the  rude  stone  ballast,  and  made  his 
way  up  to  the  bow ;  Ilamish,  who  remained  on  shore,  helped  to 
shove  her  off ;  then  the  heavy  lug-sail  was  quickly  hoisted,  the 
sheet  hauled  tight ;  and  presently  the  broad  -  beamed  boat  was 
plougliing  its  way  through  the  rushing  seas,  with  an  occasional 
cloud  of  spray  coming  right  over  her  from  stem  to  steru.  "  Fhir 
a  bhata,"  the  men  sung,  until  Donald  struck  in  with  his  pipes, 
and  the  wild  skirl  of  "  The  Barren  Rocks  of  Aden  "  was  a  fitter 
sort  of  music  to  go  with  these  sweeping  winds  and  plunging 
seas. 

And  now  we  will  board  the  steamer,  where  Keith  Macleod  is 
up  on  the  bridge,  occasionally  using  a  glass,  and  again  talking  to 
the  captain,  who  is  beside  him.  First  of  all  on  board  he  had 
caught  sight  of  the  red  flag  floating  over  Castle  Dare;  and  his 
heart  had  leaped  up  at  that  sign  of  welcome.  Then  he  could 
make  out  the  dark  figures  on  the  quay,  and  the  hoisting  of  the 
lug-sail,  and  the  putting  off  of  the  boat.  It  Avas  not  a  good  day 
for  observing  things,  for  heavy  clouds  were  quickly  passing  over, 
followed  by  bewildering  gleams  of  a  sort  of  watery  sunlight ;  but 
as  it  happened,  one  of  these  sudden  flashes  chanced  to  light  up  a 
small  plateau  on  the  side  of  the  hill  above  the  quay,  just  as  the 
glass  was  directed  on  that  point.  Sui-ely  —  surely — these  two 
figures  ? 

"  Why,  it  is  the  mother — and  Janet !"  he  cried. 

He  hastily  gave  the  glass  to  his  companion. 

"  Look !"  said  he.  "  Don't  you  think  that  is  Lady  Macleod 
and  my  cousin  ?  What  could  have  tempted  the  old  lady  to  come 
away  down  there  on  such  a  squally  day  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  it  is  the  ladies,"  said  the  captain  ;  and  then 
he  added,  with  a  friendly  smile,  "  and  I  think  it  is  to  see  you  all 
the  sooner.  Sir  Keith,  that  they  have  come  down  to  the  shore." 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  must  go  down  and  get  my  gillie,  and  show 
him  his  future  home." 

He  went  below  the  hun-icane  deck  to  a  corner  in  which  Os- 
car was  chained  up.  Beside  the  dog,  sitting  on  a  camp-stool, 
and  wrapped  round  with  a  tartan  plaid,  was  the  person  whom 
Macleod  had  doubtless  referred  to  as  liis  gillie.     lie  was  not  a 


■lOi  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

distinguislied-looking  attendant  to  bo  travelling  with  a  Highland 
chieftain. 

"Johnny,  my  man,  come  on  deck  now,  and  I  will  show  yon 
where  you  arc  going  to  live.  You're  all  right  now,  aren't  you? 
And  you  will  be  on  the  solid  land  again  in  about  ten  minutes," 

Macleod's  gillie  rose — or,  rather,  got  down — from  the  camp- 
stool,  and  showed  himself  to  be  a  miserable,  emaciated  child  often 
ur  eleven,  with  a  perfectly  colorless  face,  frightened  gray  eyes, 
and  starved  white  hands.  The  contrast  between  the  bronzed  and 
bearded  sailors — who  were  now  Imrrying  about  to  receive  the 
boat  from  Dare — and  this  pallid  and  shrunken  scrap  of  humanity 
was  striking ;  and  wlien  Macleod  took  his  hand,  and  half  led  and 
half  carried  him  up  on  deck,  the  look  of  terror  that  he  directed 
on  the  plunging  waters  all  around  showed  that  he  had  not  had 
much  experience  of  the  sea.  Involuntarily  he  had  grasped  hold 
of  Macleod's  coat  as  if  for  protection. 

"  Now,  Johnny,  look  right  ahead.  Do  you  see  the  big  house 
on  the  cliffs  over  yonder  ?" 

The  child,  still  clinging  on  to  liis  protector,  looked  all  round 
with  the  dull,  pale  eyes,  and  at  length  said, 

"No." 

"  Can't  yoa  see  that  house,  poor  chap  ?  Well,  do  you  see  that 
boat  over  there  ?     You  must  be  able  to  sec  that." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  That  boat  is  to  take  you  ashore.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  If 
you  don't  like  to  look  at  the  sea,  get  down  into  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  and  take  Oscar  with  you,  and  you'll  see  nothing  until 
you  are  ashore.     Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Come  along,  then." 

For  now  the  wild  skirl  of  Donald's  pipes  was  plainly  audible; 
and  the  various  packages  —  the  new  rifle,  the  wooden  case  con- 
taining the  wonderful  dresses  for  Lady  Macleod  and  her  niece, 
mid  what  not — were  all  ranged  ready ;  to  say  nothing  of  some 
loaves  of  white  bread  that  the  steward  Avas  sending  ashore  at 
llamish's  request.  And  then  the  heaving  boat  came  close  to, 
her  sail  hauled  down ;  and  a  rope  was  thrown  and  caught ;  and 
then  there  was  a  hazardous  scrambling  down  the  dripping  iron 
steps,  and  a  notable  spring  on  the  part  of  Oscar,  who  had  escaped 
from  the  liands  of  tlie  sailor.^.     As  for  the  new  gillie,  he  rcsem- 


WHITE    IlEATIIER.  105 

bled  notliing  so  much  as  a  limp  bunch  of  clothes,  as  Maclcod's 
men,  wondennii;  nut  a  little,  caught  him  up  and  passed  him 
astern,  Tlien  the  rope  was  thruwn  oil,  the  steamer  steamed 
slowly  ahead,  the  lug-sail  wa.s  ru!i  up  again,  and  away  the  boat 
plunged  for  the  shore,  with  Donald  playing  the  "Heights  of 
Alma"  as  though  he  would  rend  the  skies. 

"  Hold  your  noise,  Donald  !"  his  master  called  to  him.  "  You 
will  have  plenty  of  time  to  play  the  pipes  in  the  evening." 

For  lie'  was  greatly  delighted  to  be  among  his  own  people 
again ;  and  he  was  eager  in  his  questions  of  the  men  as  to  all 
that  had  happened  in  his  absence ;  and  it  was  no  small  thing  to 
them  that  Sir  Keith  Maclcod  should  remember  their  affairs,  too, 
and  ask  after  their  families  and  friends.  Donald's  loyalty  was 
stronger  than  his  professional  pride.  He  was  not  offended  that 
he  had  been  silenced  ;  he  only  bottled  up  his  musical  fervor  all 
the  more ;  and  at  length,  as  he  neared  the  land,  and  knew  that 
Lady  Maclcod  and  Miss  Macleod  were  within  hearing,  he  took  it 
that  he  knew  better  than  any  one  else  \Vhat  was  proper  to  the 
occasion,  and  once  more  the  proud  and  stirring  march  strove 
with  the  sound  of  the  hurrying  waves.  Nor  was  that  all.  The 
piper  lad  was  doing  his  best.  Never  before  had  he  put  such  fire 
into  his  vi'ork ;  but  as  they  got  close  inshore  the  joy  in  his  heart 
got  altogether  the  mastery  of  him,  and  away  he  broke  into  the 
mad  delight  of  "Lady  Mary  Ramsay's  Reel."  Hamish  on  the 
quay  heard,  and  he  strutted  about  as  if  he  were  himself  playing, 
and  that  before  the  Queen.  And  then  he  heard  another  sound — 
that  of  Macleod's  voice  : 

.'■'■  Stand  hi/,  lads!  .  .  .  Doivn  ivith  her T  —  and  the  flapping- 
sail,  with  its  swinging  gaff,  rattled  down  into  the  boat.  At  the 
same  moment  Oscar  made  a  clean  spring  into  the  water,  gained 
the  landing-steps,  and  dashed  upward — drip[)ing  as  he  was — to  two 
ladies  who  were  standing  on  the  quay  above.  And  Janet  Macleod 
so  far  forgot  what  was  due  to  her  best  gown  that  she  caught  his 
head  in  her  arms,  as  he  pawed  and  whined  with  delight. 

That  was  a  glad  enough  party  that  started  off  and  up  the  hill- 
side for  Castle  Dare.  Janet  Maclcod  did  not  care  to  conceal  that 
she  had  been  crying  a  little  bit ;  and  there  were  proud  tears  in 
the  eyes  of  the  stately  old  dame  who  walked  v^ith  her ;  but  the 
most  excited  of  all  was  Hamish,  who  could  by  no  means  be  got 
to  understand  that  his  master  did  not  all  at  once  want  to  hear 


5-^ 


lOG  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

about  the  trial  of  the  young  setters,  and  the  price  of  the  sheep 
sold  the  week  before  at  Tobermory,  and  the  stag  that  was  chased 
by  the  Carsaig  men  on  Tuesday. 

"  Confound  it,  Ilauiish !"  Maclcod  said,  laughing,  "  leave  all 
those  things  till  after  dinner." 

"  Oh  ay,  oh  ay.  Sir  Keith,  we  will  hef  plenty  of  time  after  din- 
ner," said  llainish,  just  as  if  he  were  one  of  th.e  party,  but  very 
nervously  working  with  the  ends  of  his  thumbs  all  the  time, 
"  and  I  will  tell  yon  of  the  fine  big  stag  that  has  been  coming 
down  every  night — every  night,  as  I  am  a  living  man — to  Mrs. 
Murdoch's  corn;  and  I  wass  saying  to  her,  'Just  hold  your 
tongue,  Mrs.  Murdoch' — that  wass  what  I  will  say  to  her — 'just 
hold  your  tongue,  Mrs.  Murdoch,  and  be  a  civil  woman,  for  a  day 
or  two  days,  and  when  Sir  Keith  comes  home  it  iss  no  more  at 
all  the  stag  will  trouble  you — oh  no,  no  moru  at  all ;  there  will 
be  no  more  trouble  about  the  stag  when  Sir  Keith  comes  home.'" 

And  old  Ilamish  laughed  at  his  own  wit,  but  it  was  in  a  sort 
of  excited  way. 

"  Look  here,  Hamish,  I  want  you  to  do  this  for  me,"  Maclcod 
said ;  and  instantly  the  face  of  the  old  man — it  was  a  fine  face, 
too,  with  its  aquiline  nose,  and  grizzled  hair,  and  keen  hawk-like 
eyes — was  full  of  an  eager  attention.  "  Go  back  and  fetch  that 
little  boy  I  left  with  Donald.  You  had  better  look  after  him 
yourself.  I  don't  think  any  water  came  over  him  ;  but  give  him 
dry  clothes  if  he  is  wet  at  all.  And  feed  him  up  :  the  little  beg- 
gar will  take  a  lot  of  fattening  without  any  harm." 

"  Where  is  he  to  go  to  ?"  said  Ilamish,  doubtfully. 

"  You  are  to  make  a  keeper  of  him.  When  you  have  fattened 
him  up  a  bit,  teach  him  to  feed  the  dogs.  When  he  gets  bigger, 
he  can  clean  the  guns." 

"  I  will  let  no  man  or  boy  clean  the  guns  for  you  but  myself, 
Sir  Keith,"  the  old  man  said,  quite  simply,  and  without  a  shadow 
of  disrespect.     "  I  will  hef  no  risk  of  the  kind." 

"Very  well,  '^hen ;  but  go  and  get  the  boy,  and  make  him  at 
home  as  much  as  you  can.     Feed  him  up." 

"  Wlio  is  it,  Keith,"  his  cousin  said,  "  that  you  are  speaking 
of  as  if  he  was  a  sheep  or  a  calf  ?" 

"  Faith,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  if  the  philanthropists  heard  of  it, 
they  would  prosecute  me  for  slave-stealing.  I  bought  the  boy 
— for  a  sovereign." 


AVIIITE    IIEATIIEIl.  107 

"  I  think  you  have  made  a  bad  bargahi,  Keith,"  his  motli^r  said ; 
but  she  was  quite  prepared  to  hear  of  sonic  absurd  whim  of  his. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  was  going  into  Trafalgar  S(juarc,  where 
tlic  National  Gallery  of  pictures  is,  mother,  and  there  is  a  cab- 
stand in  the  street,  and  there  was  a  cabman  standing  there,  munch- 
ing at  a  lump  of  dry  bread  that  he  cut  with  a  jack-knife.  I  never 
saw  a  cabman  do  that  before ;  I  should  have  been  less  surprised 
if  he  had  been  having  a  chicken  and  a  bottle  of  port,  llowever, 
in  front  of  this  big  cabman  this  little  chap  I  have  brought  with 
me  was  standing ;  quite  in  rags ;  no  shoes  on  his  feet,  no  cap  on 
his  Avild  hair;  and  he  was  looking  fixedly  at  the  big  lump  of 
bread.  I  never  saw  any  animal  look  so  starved  and  so  hungry; 
his  eyes  were  quite  glazed  with  the  fascination  of  seeing  the  man 
ploughing  away  at  this  lump  of  loaf.  And  I  never  saw  any  child 
so  thin.  His  hands  Avere  like  the  claws  of  a  bird ;  and  his  trou- 
sers were  short  and  torn  so  that  you  could  see  his  legs  were  like 
two  pipe-stems.  At  last  the  cabman  saw  him.  '  Get  out  o'  the 
way,'  says  he.  The  little  chap  slunk  off,  frightened,  I  suppose. 
Then  the  man  changed  his  mind.  *  Come  here,'  says  he.  But 
the  little  chap  was  frightened,  and  wouldn't  come  back ;  so  he 
went  after  him,  and  thrust  the  loaf  into  his  hand,  and  bade  him 
be  off.  I  can  tell  you,  the  way  he  went  into  that  loaf  Avas  very 
fine  to  see.  It  was  like  a  weasel  at  the  neck  of  a  rabbit.  It  was 
like  an  otter  at  the  back  of  a  salmon.  And  that  was  how  I  made 
liis  acquaintance,"  Macleod  added,  carelessly. 

"  But  you  have  not  told  us  why  yon  brought  him  up  here,"  his 
mother  said. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  laugh,  "I  was  looking  at  him, 
and  I  wondered  whether  Highland  mutton  and  Highland  air 
would  make  any  difference  in  the  wretched  little  skeleton ;  and 
so  I  made  his  acquaintance.  I  went  home  with  him  to  a  fear- 
ful place — I  have  got  the  address,  but  I  did  not  know  there  were 
such  quarters  in  London  —  and  I  saw  his  mother.  The  poor 
woman  was  very  ill,  and  she  had  a  lot  of  children;  and  she 
seemed  quite  glad  when  I  offered  to  take  this  one  and  make  a 
herd  or  a  game  keeper  of  him.  I  promised  he  should  go  to  visit 
her  once  a  year,  that  she  might  see  whether  there  was  any  differ- 
ence.    And  I  gave  her  a  sovereign." 

"  You  were  quite  right,  Keith,"  his  cousin  said,  gravely ;  "  you 
run  a  great  risk.     Do  they  hang  slavers  ?" 


108  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

"  Mother,"  said  be,  for  by  this  time  tbc  ladles  were  standing 
still,  so  tbat  Hamisb  and  tbc  new  gillie  sbould  overtake  them, 
"you  mustn't  laugh  at  the  little  chap  when  you  see  him  with  the 
plaid  taken  off.  The  fact  is,  I  took  hiui  to  a  shop  in  the  neigh- 
borhood to  get  some  clothes  for  him,  but  I  couldn't  get  anything 
small  enough.  lie  does  look  ridiculous ;  but  you  mustn't  laugh 
at  him,  for  iie  is  like  a  girl  for  sensitiveness.  But  when  he  has 
been  fed  up  a  bit,  and  got  some  Highland  air  into  his  lungs,  his 
own  mother  won't  know  him.  And  you  will  get  him  some  other 
clothes,  Janet — some  kilts,  maybe — when  his  legs  get  stronger." 

Whatever  Keith  Macleod  did  was  sure  to  be  riixht  in  his  moth- 
er's  eyes ;  and  she  only  said,  with  a  laugh, 

"  Well,  Keith,  you  are  not  like  your  brothers.  When  they 
brought  me  home  presents,  it  was  pretty  things ;  but  all  your  cu- 
riosities, wherever  you  go,  are  the  halt,  and  the  lame,  and  the 
blind ;  so  that  the  people  laugh  at  you,  and  say  that  Castle  Dare 
is  becoming  the  hospital  of  Mull." 

"  Mother,  I  don't  care  what  the  people  say." 

"And  indeed  I  know  that,"  she  answered. 

Their  waiting  had' allowed  Ilamish  and  the  new  gillie  to  over- 
take them ;  and  certainly  the  lattei",  deprived  of  his  plaid,  pre- 
sented a  sufficiently  ridiculous  appearance  in  the  trousers  and 
jacket  that  were  obviously  too  big  for  him.  But  neither  Lady 
Macleod  nor  Janet  laughed  at  all  when  they  saw  this  starved  Lon- 
don Avalf  before  them. 

"  Johnny,"  said  Macleod,  "  here  arc  two  ladies  who  will  be  very 
kind  to  you,  so  you  needn't  be  afraid  to  live  here." 

But  Johnny  did  look  mortally  afraid,  and  instinctively  once 
more  took  hold  of  Macleod's  coat.  Then  he  seemed  to  have  some 
notion  of  his  duty.  lie  drew  back  one  foot,  and  made  a  sort  of 
courtesy.  Probably  he  had  seen  girls  do  this,  in  mock-heroic 
fashion,  in  some  London  court. 

"And  are  you  very  tired?"  said  Janet  Macleod,  in  that  soft 
voice  of  hers  that  all  children  loved. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child. 

"  Kott  bless  me!"  cried  Ilamish,  "  I  did  not  know  that !" — and 
therewith  the  old  man  caught  up  Johnny  Wickes  as  if  ho  had 
been  a  bit  of  ribbon,  and  flung  him  on  to  his  shoulder,  and 
marched  off  to  Castle  Dare. 

Then  the  three  Macleods  continued  on  their  way — through  the 


MACLKOD  S    KKTCRN 


WHITE    HEATHER.  109 

damp-sniclling  fir-wood ;  over  tlic  bridge  that  Kpanncd  the  brawl- 
insi'  brook  :  a^iain  tliroii2;h  the  fir-wood ;  until  they  reached  the 
open  space  surrounding  the  big  stone  liouse.  Tliey  stood  for  a 
niinute  there — higli  over  the  great  plain  of  the  sea,  that  was  beau- 
tiful v/ith  a  thousand  tints  of  light.  And  there  was  the  green 
inland  of  Ulva,  and  there  the  darlcer  rocks  of  Colonsay,  and  far- 
ther out,  amidst  the  windy  vapor  and  sunlight,  Lunga,  and  Fladda, 
and  the  Dutchman's  Cap,  changing  in  their  hue  every  minute  as 
the  clouds  came  driving  over  the  sea. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  have  not  tasted  fresh  air  since  I  left.  I 
am  not  sorry  to  get  back  to  Dare." 

"And  I  don't  think  we  are  sorry  to  see  you  back,  Keitli,"  his 
cousin  said,  raodestlv. 

And  yet  the  manner  of  his  welcome  was  not  imposing;  they 
arc  not  very  good  at  grand  ceremonies  on  the  western  shores  of 
Mull.  It  is  true  that  Donald,  relieved  of  the  care  of  Johnny 
Wickcs,  had  sped  by  a  short-cut  through  the  fir-wood,  and  was 
now  standing  in  the  gravelled  space  outside  the  house,  playing 
the  "Heights  of  Alma"  with  a  spirit  worthy  of  all  the  MacCrui- 
mins  that  ever  lived.  But  as  for  the  ceremony  of  welcome,  this 
was  all  there  was  of  it :  When  Keith  Maclcod  went  up  to  the 
liall  door,  he  found  a  small  girl  of  five  or  six  standing  quite  by 
licrself  at  the  open  entrance.  This  Avas  Christina,  the  grand- 
daughter of  Ilamish,  a  pretty  little  girl  with  wide  blue  eyes  and 
yellow  hair. 

"  Halloo,  Christina,"  said  Macleod,  "  won't  you  let  me  into  the 
house  ?" 

"  This  is  for  you.  Sir  Keith,"  said  she,  in  the  Gaelic,  and  she 
presented  him  with  a  beautiful  bunch  of  white  heather.  Now 
white  heather,  in  that  part  of  the  country,  is  known  to  bring 
great  good  fortune  to  the  possessor  of  it. 

"And  it  is  a  good  omen,"  said  he,  lightly,  as  he  took  the  child 
up  and  kissed  her.  And  that  was  the  manner  of  his  welcome  to 
Castle  Dare. 


110  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AT    HOME. 

The  two  women-folk,  with  whom  he  was  most  nearly  brought 
into  contact,  were  quite  convinced  that  his  stay  in  London  had 
in  nowise  altered  the  buoyant  humor  and  brisk  activity  of  Keith 
Macleod.  Castle  Dare  awoke  into  a  new  life  on  his  return.  He 
was  all  about  and  over  the  place,  accompanied  by  the  faithful 
Ilaraish ;  and  he  had  a  friendly  word  and  smile  for  every  one 
he  met.  lie  was  a  good  master:  perhaps  he  was  none  the  less 
liked  because  it  was  pretty  well  understood  that  he  meant  to  be 
master,  llis  good-nature  had  nothing  of  weakness  in  it.  "  If 
yon  love  me,  I  love  you,"  says  the  Gaelic  proverb ;  "  othcnvise  do 
not  come  near  me."  There  v/as  not  a  man  or  lad  about  the  place 
who  would  not  have  adventured  his  life  for  Macleod ;  but  all  the 
same  they  were  well  aware  that  the  handsome  young  master,  who 
seemed  to  go  through  life  witli  a  merry  laugh  on  his  face,  was 
not  one  to  be  trifled  with.  This  John  Frascr,  an  Aberdeen  man, 
discovered  on  the  second  nio-ht  after  Maclcod's  return  to  Castle 
Dare. 

Macleod  had  the  salmon-fishing  on  this  part  of  the  coast,  and 
had  a  boat's  crew  of  four  men  engaged  in  the  work.  One  of 
these  having  fallen  sick,  Ilamish  had  to  hire  a  new  hand,  an 
Aberdeenshire  man,  who  joined  the  crew  just  before  Macleod's 
departure  from  London.  This  Fraser  turned  out  to  be  a  "dour" 
man ;  and  his  discontent  and  grumbling  seemed  to  be  affecting 
the  others,  so  that  the  domestic  peace  of  Dare  was  threatened. 
On  the  night  in  question  old  Ilamish  came  into  Macleod's  con- 
joint library  and  gun-room. 

"  The  fishermen  hef  been  asking  mc  again,  sir,"  observed  Ham- 
ish,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand.     "  What  will  I  say  to  them  ?" 

"Oh,  about  the  wages?"  Macleod  said,  turning  round. 

"Ay,  sir." 

"  Well,  Ilamish,  I  don't  object.  Tell  them  that  Avhat  they  say 
is  right.  This  year  has  been  a  very  good  year ;  we  have  made 
some  money ;  I  will  give  them  two  shillings  a  week  more  if  they 


AT    HOME.  Ill 

like.  But  then,  look  here,  Ilamish  —  if  they  have  their  wages 
raised  in  a  good  year,  tliey  imist  have  tliem  lowered  in  a  bad 
year.  Tlicy  cannot  expect  to  share  tlie  {)roiit  without  sharing 
the  loss  too.     Do  you  understand  that,  Ilauiish  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir  Keith,  I  think  I  do." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  put  it  into  good  Gaelic  for  them?" 

"Oh  ay." 

"  Then  tell  them  to  choose  for  themselves.     But  make  it  clear." 

"Ay,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Ilamish.     "And  if  it  was  not  for  that 

man,  John  Frascr,  there  would  be  no  word  of  this  thing. 

And  there  is  another  thing  I  will  lief  to  speak  to  you  about.  Sir 
Keith ;  and  it  is  John  Fraser,  too,  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  this, 
I  will  know  that  fine.  It  is  more  than  two  or  three  times  that 
yon  will  warn  the  men  not  to  bathe  in  the  bay  below  the  castle ; 
and  not  for  many  a  day  will  any  one  do  that,  for  the  Cave  bay 
it  is  not  more  as  half  a  mile  away.  And  when  you  were  in  Lon- 
don, Sir  Keith,  it  was  this  man  John  Fraser  he  would  bathe  in 
the  bay  below  the  castle  in  the  morning,  and  he  got  one  or  two 
of  the  others  to  join  him  ;  and  when  I  bade  him  go  away,  he 
will  say  that  the  sea  belongs  to  no  man.  And  this  morning, 
too—" 

"This  morning!"  Macleod  said,  jumping  to  his  feet.  There 
was  an  angry  flash  in  his  eyes. 

"Ay,  sir,  this  very  morning  I  saw  two  of  them  myself — and 
John  Fraser  he  was  one  of  them — and  I  went  down  and  said  to 
them,  *  It  will  be  a  bad  day  for  you,'  says  I  to  them,  *  if  Sir  Keith 
will  find  you  in  this  bay.' " 

"Are  they  down  at  the  quay  now  ?"  Macleod  said. 

"Ay,  they  will  be  in  the  house  now." 

"  Come  along  with  me,  Hamish.  I  think  we  will  put  this 
right." 

He  lifted  his  cap  and  went  out  into  the  cool  night  air,  followed 
by  Hamish.  They  passed  through  the  dark  fir-wood  until  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  Atlantic  ag-ain,  which  was  smooth  enouirh 
to  show  the  troubled  reflection  of  the  bigger  stars.  They  went 
down  the  hill-side  until  they  were  close  to  the  shore,  and  then 
they  followed  the  rough  path  to  the  quay.  The  door  of  the  square 
stone  building  was  open ;  the  men  were  seated  on  rude  stools  or 
on  spare  coils  of  rope,  smoking.  Macleod  called  them  out,  and 
they  came  to  the  door. 


112  MACLEOD    OF    DAIJE. 

"Now  look  here,  boys,"  said  he,  "you  know  I  will  not  allow 
any  man  to  bathe  in  the  bay  before  the  house.  I  told  you  be- 
fore;  I  tell  you  now  for  the  last  time.  They  that  want  to  bathe 
can  go  along  to  the  Cave  bay ;  and  the  end  of  it  is  this — and 
there  will  be  no  more  words  about  it — that  the  first  man  I  catch 
in  the  bay  before  the  house  I  will  take  a  horsewhip  to  him,  and 
he  will  have  as  good  a  run  as  ever  he  had  in  his  life." 

With  that  he  was  turning  away,  when  he  heard  one  of  the 
men  mutter, '"'' I  would  like  to  see  you  do  it  f^  lie  wheeled  round 
instantly — and  if  some  of  his  London  friends  could  have  seen  the 
look  of  his  face  at  this  moment,  they  might  have  altered  their 
opinion  about  the  obliteration  of  certain  qualities  from  the  tem- 
perament of  the  Highlanders  of  our  own  day. 

"  Who  said  that  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Come  out  here,  vou  four  men  !"  he  said.  "  Stand  in  a  line 
there.  Now  let  the  man  who  said  that  step  out  and  face  me.  I 
v.ill  show  him  -who  is  to  be  master  here.  If  he  thinks  he  can 
master  me,  well  ;  but  it  is  one  or  the  other  of  us  Avho  will  be 
master !" 

There  was  not  a  sound  or  a  motion  ;  but  Macleod  suddenly 
sprang  forward,  caught  the  man  Fraser  by  the  throat,  and  shook 
him  thrice — as  he  might  have  shaken  a  reed. 

"You  scoundrel!"  he  said.  "You  coward!  Are  you  afraid 
to  own  it  was  you?  There  has  been  nothing  but  bad  feeling 
since  ever  you  brought  your  ugly  face  among  us — well,  we've  had 
enough  of  you !" 

He  flung  him  back. 

"  Hamish,"  said  he,  "  you  will  pay  this  man  Lis  month's  wages 
to-night.  Pack  him  off  with  the  Gometra  men  in  the  morning; 
they  will  take  him  out  to  the  Pioneer.  And  look  you  here,  sir," 
he  added,  turninc:  to  Fraser,  "  it  will  be  a  bad  dav  for  vou  the 
day  that  I  see  your  face  again  anywhere  about  Castle  Dare." 

He  walked  off  and  up  to  the  house  again,  followed  by  the  re- 
'luctant  Hamish.  Hamish  had  spoken  of  this  matter  only  that 
Macleod  should  give  the  men  a  renewed  warning ;  he  had  no  no- 
tion that  this  act  of  vengeance  would  be  the  result.  And  where 
were  they  to  get  a  man  to  put  in  Fraser's  place? 

It  was  about  an  hour  later  that  Hamish  again  came  into  the 
room. 


AT    HOME.  113 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  lie,  "but  the  men  arc  outside." 

"  I  cannot  sec  them." 

"  They  are  ferry  sorry,  sir,  about  the  whole  matter,  and  there 
will  be  no  more  bathing  iu  the  front  of  the  house,  and  the  man 
Fraser  they  hef  brouglit  him  up  to  say  he  is  ferry  sorry  too." 

"  They  liavc  brought  him  up  ?" 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  llamish,  with  a  grave  smile.  "It  was  for 
fighting  him  they  were  one  after  the  other  because  he  will  make 
a  bad  speech  to  you ;  and  he  could  not  figlit  three  men  one  af- 
ter the  other ;  and  so  they  hef  made  him  come  up  to  say  he  is 
ferry  sorry  too;  and  will  you  let  him  stay  on  to  the  end  of  the 
season  ?" 

"  No.  Tell  the  men  that  if  they  will  behave  themselves,  we 
can  go  on  as  wo  did  before,  in  peace  and  friendliness ;  but  I 
mean  to  be  master  in  this  place.  And  I  will  not  have  a  sulky 
fellow  like  this  Fraser  stirring  up  quarrels.  lie  must  pack  and 
be  off." 

"  It  will  not  be  easy  to  get  another  man,  Sir  Keith,"  old  llam- 
ish ventured  to  say. 

"  Get  Sandy  over  from  the  Uminrer 

"  But  surely  you  will  want  the  yacht,  sir,  when  Mr.  Ogilvie 
comes  to  Dare?" 

"  I  tell  you,  llamish,  that  I  v.ill  not  have  that  fellow  about  the 
place.  That  is  an  end  of  it.  Did  you  think  it  was  only  a  threat 
that  I  meant  ?  And  have  you  not  heard  the  old  savinc:  that  '  one 
does  not  apply  plaster  to  a  threat?'  You  will  send  him  to  Go- 
mctra  in  the  mornino:  in  time  for  the  boat." 

And  so  the  sentence  of  banishment  was  confirmed ;  and  llam- 
ish got  a  young  fellow  from  Ulva  to  take  the  place  of  Fraser ; 
and  from  that  time  to  the  end  of  the  fishing  season  perfect  peace 
and  harmony  prevailed  between  master  and  men. 

But  if  Lady  Maclcod  and  Janet  saw  no  change  whatever  in 
Maclcod's  manner  after  liis  return  from  the  South,  llamish,  who 
was  more  alone  with  the  young  man,  did.  Why  this  strange  in 
difference  to  the  very  occupations  that  used  to  be  the  chief  inter- 
est of  his  life?  He  would  not  go  out  after  the  deer:  the  velvet 
would  be  on  their  horns  yet.  He  would  not  go  out  after  the 
grouse:  what  was  the  use  of  disturbing  them  before  Mr.  Oijilvie 
came  up  ? 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  he  said,  almost  petulantly.     "  Shall  I  not 


114  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

have  to  be  here  the  whole  winter  for  the  shooting  ?" — and  Ilam- 
isli  was  amazed  to  hear  hiin  talk  of  the  winter  shooting  as 
some  compulsory  duty,  Avhereas  in  these  parts  it  far  exceeded  in 
variety  and  interest  the  very  limited  low-ground  shooting  of  the 
autumn.  Until  young  Ogilvie  came  up,  Macleod  never  had  a 
gun  in  his  hand.  He  had  gone  fishing  two  or  three  days ;  but 
had  generally  ended  by  surrendering  his  rod  to  Ilamish,  and  go- 
ing for  a  walk  up  the  glen,  alone.  The  only  thing  he  seemed  to 
care  about,  in  the  way  of  out-of-door  occupation,  was  the  procur- 
ing of  otter-skins ;  and  every  man  and  boy  in  his  service  Avas  or- 
dered to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  that  stormy  coast  for  the  prince 
of  fur-bearing  animals.  Years  before  he  had  got  enough  skins 
together  for  a  jacket  for  his  cousin  Janet ;  and  that  garment  of 
beautiful  thick  black  fur — dyed  black,  of  course — was  as  silken 
and  rich  as  when  it  was  made.  Why  should  he  forget  his  own 
theory  of  letting  all  animals  have  a  chance  in  urging  a  war  of  ex- 
termination against  the  otter? 

This  preoccupation  of  mind,  of  which  Ilamish  was  alone  ob- 
servant, was  nearly  inflicting  a  cruel  injury  on  Ilamish  himself. 
On  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Ogilvie  was  expected  to  ar- 
rive, Ilamish  went  in  to  his  master's  library,  Macleod  had  been 
reading  a  book,  but  he  had  pushed  it  aside,  and  now  both  his  el- 
bows were  on  the  table,  and  he  was  leaning  his  head  on  his 
hands,  apparently  in  deep  meditation  of  some  kind  or  other. 

"  Will  I  tek  the  bandage  off  Nell's  foot  now,  sir?" 

"  Oh  yes,  if  you  like.     You  know  as  much  as  I  do  about  it." 

"Oh,  I  am  quite  sure,"  said  Ilamish,  brightly,  "that  she  will 
do  ferry  well  to-morrow.  I  will  tek  lier  whatever;  and  I  can 
send  her  home  if  it  is  too  much  for  her." 

Macleod  took  up  his  book  again. 

"  Very  well,  Ilamish.  But  you  have  plenty  to  do  about  the 
house.     Duncan  and  Sandy  can  go  with  us  to-morrow." 

The  old  man  started,  and  looked  at  his  master  for  a  second. 
Then  he  said,  "  Ferry  well,  sir,"  in  a  low  voice,  and  left  the  room. 

But  for  the  hurt,  and  the  wounded,  and  the  sorrowful  there 
Avas  always  one  refuge  of  consolation  in  Castle  Dare.  Ilamish 
Avent  straight  to  Janet  Macleod ;  and  she  Avas  astonished  to  see 
the  emotion  of  Avhich  the  keen,  hard,  hands-omo  face  of  the  old- 
man  Avas  capable.  Who  before  had  ever  seen  tears  in  the  eyes 
of  Ilamish  Maclntvrc  ? 


AT    IIOMB.  115 

"  And  perhaps  it  is  so,"  said  Ilamish,  with  his  head  hanging 
down,  *' and  perliaps  it  is  that  1  am  an  old  man  now,  and  not 
ablo  any  more  to  go  np  to  tlic  hills ;  but  if  I  am  not  able  for 
that,  I  am  not  able  for  anything ;  and  I  will  not  ask  Sir  Keith  to 
keep  me  about  the  house,  oi  about  the  yacht.  It  is  younger 
men  will  do  better  as  mc ;  and  I  can  go  away  to  Greenock ;  and 
if  it  is  an  old  man  I  am,  maybe  I  will  find  a  place  in  a  smack,  for 
all  that—" 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Hamish !"  Janet  Maclcod  said,  with  her  kindly 
eyes  bent  on  him,  "  You  may  be  sure  Sir  Keith  did  not  mean 
anything  like  that — " 

"  Ay,  mem,"  said  the  old  man,  proudly,  "  and  who  wass  it  that 
first  put  a  gun  into  his  hand?  and  who  wass  it  skinned  the  ferry 
first  seal  that  he  sliot  in  Locli  Scridain  ?  and  who  wass  it  told 
him  the  name  of  every  spar  and  sheet  of  the  Umpire,  and  showed 
him  how  to  hold  a  tiller?  And  if  there  is  any  man  knows  more 
as  me  about  the  birds  and  the  deer,  that  is  right — let  him  go 
out ;  but  it  is  the  first  day  I  hcf  not  been  out  witli  Sir  Keith 
since  ever  I  wass  at  Castle  Dare ;  and  now  it  is  time  that  I  am 
going  away  ;  for  I  am  an  old  man  ;  and  the  younger  men  they 
will  be  better  on  the  hills,  and  in  the  yacht  too.  But  I  can 
make  my  living  whatever." 

"Ilamish,  you  are  speaking  like  a  foolish  man,"  said  Janet 
Maclcod  to  him.  "  You  will  wait  here  now  till  I  go  to  Sir 
Keith." 

She  went  to  him. 

"Keith,"  said  she,  "do  you  know  that  you  have  nearly  broken 
old  Ilamish's  lieart?" 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  said  he,  looking  np  in  wonder. 

"  Ho  says  you  have  told  him  he  is  not  to  go  out  to  the  shoot- 
ing with  you  to-morrow ;  and  that  is  the  first  time  he  lias  been 
superseded ;  and  he  takes  it  that  you  think  lie  is  an  old  man ; 
and  he  talks  of  going  away  to  Greenock  to  join  a  smack." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !"  Macleod  said.  "  I  was  not  thinking  when  I 
told  him.  He  may  come  with  us  if  he  likes.  At  the  same  time, 
Janet,  I  should  think  Norman  Ogilvie  will  laugh  at  seeing  the 
butler  come  out  as  a  keeper." 

"You  know  quite  well,  Keith,"  said  liis  cousin,  "that  Ilamish 
is  no  more  a  butler  than  he  is  captain  of  the  Umpire  or  clerk  of 
the  accounts.     Ilamish  is  simply  everybody  and  everything  at 


110  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Castle  Dare.  And  if  you  speak  of  Noiman  Ogilvic  —  well,  I 
think  it  would  be  more  like  yourself,  Keith,  to  consult  the  feel- 
ings of  an  old  man  rather  than  the  opinions  of  a  young  one." 

"You  are  always  on  the  right  side,  Janet.  Tell  Hamisli  I  am 
very  sorry.  I  meant  him  no  disrespect.  And  lie  may  call  me  at 
one  in  the  morning  if  he  likes.  lie  never  looked  on  me  but  as  a 
bit  of  his  various  machinery  for  killing  tilings." 

"  That  is  not  fair  of  you,  Keith.  Old  Ilamisli  would  give  liis 
right  hand  to  save  you  the  scratcli  of  a  thorn." 

She  went  off  to  cheer  the  old  man,  and  lie  turned  to  Lis  book. 
But  it  was  not  to  read  it;  it  was  only  to  stare  at  the  outside  of 
it  in  an  absent  sort  of  way.  The  fact  is,  he  had  found  in  it  the 
story  of  a  young  aid-dc-camp  who  was  intrusted  with  a  message 
to  a  distant  part  of  the  field  while  a  battle  was  going  forward, 
and  who  in  mere  bravado  rode  across  a  part  of  the  ground  open 
to  the  enemy's  fire,  lie  came  back  laughing,  lie  had  been  hit, 
he  confessed,  but  he  had  escaped ;  and  he  carelessly  shook  a  drop 
or  two  of  blood  from  a  flesh  wound  on  his  hand.  Suddenly, 
however,  he  turned  pale,  wavered  a  little,  and  then  fell  forward 
on  his  horse's  neck,  a  corpse. 

Macleod  was  thinking  about  this  story  rather  gloomily.  But 
at  last  he  got  up  with  a  more  cheerful  air,  and  seized  his  cap. 

"And  if  it  is  my  death-wound  1  have  got,"  he  was  thinking  to 
himself,  as  he  set  out  for  the  boat  that  was  waiting  for  him  at 
the  shore,  "  I  will  not  cry  out  too  soon." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    FRIEND. 

llis  death -wound!  There  was  but  little  suggestion  of  any 
death-wound  about  the  manner  or  speech  of  this  light-hearted 
and  frank-spoken  fellow  who  now  welcomed  his  old  friend  Ogil- 
\ie  ashore.  He  swung  the  gun-case  into  the  cart  as  if  it  had 
been  a  bit  of  thread.  He  himself  would  carry  Ogilvie's  top-coat 
over  his  arm. 

"And  why  have  you  not  come  in  your  hunting  tartan?"  said 
he,  observing  the  very  precise  and  correct  shooting  costume  of 
the  young  man.  ; 


A    FRIEND.  117 

*'  Not  likely,"  Kild  Mr.  O^ilvio,  hiiu^-liiiio-.  "  I  don't  like  walk- 
iiii!:  throii'^h  clouds  with  bare  knees,  with  a  chance  of  sittin''"  down 
on  an  adder  or  two.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Maclcod ;  if 
the  mornin!^  is  wet,  I  will  not  go  out  stalking,  if  all  the  stags  in 
Christendom  were  there.  I  know  what  it  is ;  I  have  had  enough 
of  it  in  my  younger  days." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  Macleod  said,  seriouslj',  "you  must  not  talk 
here  as  if  you  could  do  what  you  liked.  It  is  not  what  you  wish 
to  do,  or  what  you  don't  wish  to  do ;  it  is  what  Ilaraish  orders 
to  have  done.  Do  vou  think  I  would  dare  to  tell  Ilamish  what 
we  must  do  to-morrow  ?" 

"Very  Avell,  then,  I  will  sec  Ilamish  myself;  I  dare  say  he  re- 
members me." 

And  he  did  see  Ilamish  that  evening,  and  it  was  arranged  be-- 
tweca  them  that  if  the  morning  looked  threatening,  they  would 
leave  the  deer  alone,  and  would  merely  take  the  lower-lying  moors 
in  the  immediate  neitrhborliood  of  Castle  Dare.  And  Ilamish 
took  great  care  to  impress  on  the  young  man  that  Macleod  had 
not  yet  taken  a  gun  in  his  hand,  merely  that  there  should  be  a 
decent  bit  of  shooting  when  his  guest  arrived. 

"And  he  will  say  to  me,  only  yesterday,"  observed  Ilamish, 
confidentially — "it  w'ass  yesterday  itself  he  wass  saying  to  me, 
'  Ilamisli,  when  Mr.  Ogilvie  comes  here,  it  will  be  only  six  days 
or  seven  days  he  will  be  able  to  stop,  and  you  will  try  to  get 
liim  two  or  three  stags.  And,  Ilamish ' — this  is  what  he  'vvill  say 
to  me — *  you  will  pay  no  heed  to  me,  for  I  hef  plenty  of  the 
sliooting  whatever,  from  tlie  one  year's  end  to  the  other  year's 
end,  and  it  is  Mr.  Ogilvie  you  will  look  after.'  And  you  do  not 
mind  the  rain,  sir?  It  is  fine  warm  clothes  you  have  got  on — 
fine  woollen  clothes  you  have,  and  what  harm  will  a  shower  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  1  don't  mind  the  rain,  so  long  as  I  can  keep  moving — 
that's  the  fact,  Ilamish,"  replied  Mr.  Ogilvie;  "but  I  don't  like 
lying  in  wet  heather  for  an  hour  at  a  stretch.  And  I  don't  care 
how  few  birds  there  are,  there  will  be  plenty  to  keep  us  walking. 
So  you  remember  me,  after  all,  Ilamish?" 

"  Oh  ay,  sir,"  said  Hamish,  with  a  demure  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
"  I  mind  fine  the  time  you  will  fall  into  the  water  off  the  rock  in 
Loch  na  Keal." 

"  There,  now,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ogilvie.  "  That  is  precisely  what 
I  don't  sec  the  fun  of  doing,  itow  that  T  have  got  to  man's  estate, 


118  MACLKOD    Ul<'    UAivii. 

and  liave  a  wliolesoine  fcav  of  killin*!;  invself.  Do  you  think  I 
would  lie  down  now  on  wet  sea-weed,  and  get  slowly  soaked 
through  with  the  rain  fur  a  whole  hour,  on  the  chance  of  a  seal 
coining  on  the  other  side  of  the  rock?  Of  course  Avhen  I  tried 
to  get  up  I  was  as  stiff  as  a  stone.  I  could  not  have  lifted  the 
rifle  if  a  hundred  seals  had  been  there.  And  it  was  no  wonder 
at  all  I  slipped  down  into  the  water." 

"But  the  sea- water,"  said  llaniish,  gravely;  "there  will  no 
harm  come  to'you  of  the  sea-water." 

"I  want  to  have  as  little  as  possible  of  either  sea-water  or  rain- 
water," said  Mr.  Ogilvic,  with  decision.  "  I  believe  Macleod  is 
half  an  otter  himself." 

ILimish  did  not  like  this,  but  he  only  said,  respectfully, 
.     *' I  do  not  think  Sir  Keith  is  afraid  of  a  shower  of  rain  what- 
ever." 

These  gloomy  anticipations  were  surely  uncalled  for ;  for  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  the  past  week  the  Western  Isles  had  basked  in 
uninterrupted  sunlight,  w  ith  blue  skies  over  the  fair  blue  seas,  and 
a  resinous  warmth  exhaling  from  the  lonely  moors.  But  all  the 
same,  next  morning  broke  as  if  Mr.  Ogilvie's  forebodings  were 
only  too  likely  to  be  realized.  The  sea  was  leaden-hued  and  ap- 
parently still,  tliough  the  booming  of  the  Atlantic  swell  into  the 
great  caverns  could  be  heard ;  Staffa,  and  Lunga,  and  the  Dutch- 
man were  of  a  dismal  black ;  the  brighter  colors  of  Ulva  and 
Colonsay  seemed  coldly  gray  and  green ;  and  heavy  banks  of 
cloud  lay  along  the  land,  running  out  to  Ru-Treshanish.  The 
noise  of  the  stream  rushing  down  through  the  fir-wood  close  to 
the  castle  seemed  louder  than  usual,  as  if  rain  had  fallen  during 
the  night.  It  was  rather  cold,  too :  all  that  Lady  Macleod  and 
Janet  could  say  failed  to  raise  the  spirits  of  their  guest. 

But  when  Macleod — dressed  in  his  homespun  tartan  of  yellow 
and  black  —  came  round  from  the  kennel^  with  the  dogs,  and 
Ilamish,  and  the  tall  red-headed  lad  Sandy/ it  appeared  that  they 
considered  this  to  be  rather  a  fine  day  than  otherwise,  and  were 
eager  to  be  off. 

"  Come  along,  Ogilvie,"  Macleod  cried,  as  he  gave  liis  friend's 
gun  to  Sandy,  but  sli()ul<lercd  his  own.  "Sorry  we  haven't  a  dog- 
cart to  drive  yon  to  tlic  moor,  but  it  is  not  far  off." 

"  I  think  a  cigar  in  the  library  would  be  the  best  thing  for  a 
morning  like  this,"  said  Ogilvic,  ratlier  gloomily,  as  he  put  up 


A    FIUENU.  1  1  'J 

tlic  collar  of  his  sliooting'-jaclcct,  for  a  drop  or  two  of  rain  had 
fallen. 

"  Nonsense,  man  !  the  first  bird  you  kill  will  cheer  you  up." 

Maclcod  was  right;  they  had  just  passed  through  the  wood  of 
voung  larches  close  to  Castle  Dare,  and  were  ascending  a  rouii'li 
stone  road  that  led  by  the  side  of  a  deep  glen,  when  a  sudden 
whir  close  by  them  startled  the  silence  of  this  gloomy  morning. 
In  an  instant  Macleod  had  whipped  Lis  gun  from  liis  shoulder 
and  thrust  it  into  Ogilvie's  hands.  By  the  time  tlie  young  man 
had  full-cocked  the  right  barrel  and  taken  a  quick  aim,  the  bird 
was  half-way  across  the  valley;  but  all  the  same  he  tired.  For 
another  second  the  bird  continued  its  ilight,  but  in  a  slightly  ir- 
regular fashion  ;  then  down  it  went  like  a  stone  into  the  heather 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  chasm.  ' 

"  Well  done,  sir  !"  cried  old  Ilamish. 

"  Eravo  !"  called  out  Macleod. 

"  It  was  a  grand  long  shot !"  said  Sandy,  as  he  unslippcd  the 
sagacious  old  retriever,  and  sent  her  down  into  the  glen. 

They  had  scarcely  spoken  when  another  dark  object,  looking 
to  the  startled  eye  as  if  it  were  the  size  of  a  house,  sprang  from 
the  heather  close  by,  and  went  off  like  an  arrow,  utterino-  a  succes- 
sion  of  sharp  crowings.  Why  did  not  he  fire  ?  Then  they  saw 
him  in  wild  despair  whip  down  the  gun,  full-cock  the  left  barrel, 
and  put  it  up  again.  The  bird  was  just  disappearing  over  a  crest 
of  rising  ground,  and  as  Ogilvie  fired  he  disappeared  altogether. 

"  lie's  down,  sir!"  cried  Hamish,  in  great  excitement. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Ogilvie  answered,  with  a  doubtful  air  on 
liis  face,  but  with  a  bright  gladness  in  his  eyes  all  the  same. 

"He's  down,  sir,"  Ilamish  reasserted.  "Come  away,  Sandy, 
with  tlie  dog!"  he  shouted  to  tlic  red-headed  lad,  who  had  gone 
down  into  the  glen  to  help  Nell  in  her  researches.  By  this  time 
they  saw  that  Sandy  was  recrossing  the  burn  with  the  grouse  in 
his  hand,  Nell  following  him  contentedly.  They  whistled,  and 
again  whistled;  but  Nell  considered  that  her  task  had  been  ac^ 
complishcd,  and  alternately  looked  at  them  and  up  at  her  imme- 
diate master.  However,  the  tall  lad,  probably  considering  that 
the  Avhistling  was  meant  as  much  for  him  as  for  the  retriever, 
sprang  np  the  side  of  the  glen  in  a  miraculous  fashion,  catching 
hero  and  there  by  a  bunch  of  heather  or  the  stump  of  a  young 
larch,  and  presently  he  had  rejoined  the  party. 


12U  MACLEOD    OV    UAUE. 

"Take  time,  sir,"  said  lie.  "Take  time.  Maybe  tlierc  is  more 
of  tliein  about  here.  And  tlie  other  one,  I  marked  him  down 
from  the  other  side.     We  will  get  him  ferry  well." 

They  found  nothing,  however,  until  they  had  got  to  the  other 
side  of  the  hill,  where  Nell  speedily  made  herself  mistress  of  the 
other  bird  —  a  fine  young  cock  grouse,  plump,  and  in  splendid 
plumage. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  the  morning  now,  Ogilvie?"  Mac- 
leod  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  will  clear,"  said  he,  shyly ;  and  he  endeav- 
ored to  make  light  of  Ilamish's  assertions  that  they  were  "  ferry 
pretty  shots — ferry  good  shots;  and  it  was  always  a  right  thing 
to  put  cartridges  in  the  barrels  at  the  door  of  a  house,  for  no  one 
could  tell  what  might  be  close  to  the  house;  and  he  was  sure  that 
Mr.  Ogilvie  had  not  forgotten  the  use  of  a  gun  since  he  went  away 
from  the  hills  to  live  in  England." 

"But  look  here,  Macleod,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  said  ;  "  why  did  not  you 
fire  yourself  ?" — he  was  very  properly  surprised ;  for  the  most  gen- 
erous and  self-denying  of  men  are  apt  to  claim  their  rights  when 
a  grouse  gets  up  to  their  side. 

"  Oh,"  said  Macleod  simply,  "  I  wanted  you  to  have  a  shot." 

And  indeed  all  through  the  day  he  was  obviously  far  more 
concerned  about  Omlvie's  shooting  than  his  own.  lie  took  all 
the  hardest  work  on  himself — taking  the  outside  beat,  for  ex- 
ample, if  there  was  a  bit  of  unpromising  ground  to  be  got  over. 
When  one  or  other  of  the  dogs  suddenly  showed  by  its  uplifted 
fore-paw,  its  rigid  tail,  and  its  slow,  cautious,  timid  look  round 
for  help  and  encouragement,  that  there  was  something  ahead  of 
more  importance  than  a  lark,  Macleod  would  run  all  the  risks  of 
waiting  to  give  Ogilvie  time  to  come  up.  If  a  hare  ran  across 
with  any  chance  of  coming  within  shot  of  Ogilvie,  Macleod  let 
her  go  by  unscathed.  And  the  young  gentleman  from  the  South 
knew  enough  about  shooting  to  understand  how  he  was  being  fa- 
vored both  by  his  host  and — what  was  a  more  unlikely  thing — 
by  Hamish. 

Ue  was  shooting  very  well,  too ;  and  his  spirits  rose  and  rose 
until  the  lowering  day  was  forgotten  altogether. 

"  AVo  are  in  for  a  soaker  this  time !"  he  cried,  quite  cheerfully, 
looking  around  at  one  moment. 

AH  this  lonely  world  of  olive  greens  and  browns  had  grown 


A    FRIEND.  121 

siningcly  dark.  Even  the  hum  of  tlic  flics — the  only  sound  au- 
dible in  these  liigli  solitudes  away  from  the  sea — seemed  stilled; 
and  a  cold  Avind  began  to  blow  over  from  Ben-an-Sloich.  The 
plain  of  the  valley  in  front  of  them  began  to  fade  from  view  ; 
then  they  found  themselves  enveloped  in  a  clammy  fog,  that  set- 
tled on  their  clothes  and  hung  about  their  eyelids  and  beard,  wliile 
water  began  to  run  down  the  barrels  of  their  guns.  The  wind 
blew  harder  and  harder  :  presently  they  seemed  to  spring  out  of 
the  darkness ;  and,  turning,  they  found  tliat  the  cloud  had  swept 
onward  toward  the  sea,  leaving  the  rocks  on  the  nearest  hill-side 
all  glittering  wet  in  the  brief  burst  of  sunlight.  It  was  but  a  glim- 
mer. Heavier  clouds  came  sweeping  over;  downright  rain  began 
to  pour.  But  Ogilvie  kept  manfully  to  his  work.  He  climbed 
over  the  stone  walls,  gripping  on  with  his  wet  hands.  He  splashed 
through  the  boggy  land,  paying  no  attention  to  liis  footsteps. 
x\nd  at  last  he  got  to  following  Macleod's  plan  of  crossing  a  burn, 
which  was  merely  to  wade  througli  the  foaming  brown  water  in- 
stead of  looking  out  for  big  stones.  By  this  time  the  letters  in 
his  breast  pocket  were  a  mass  of  pulp. 

"Look  here,  Macleod,"  said  he,  with  the  rain  running  down 
his  face.  "I  can't  tell  the  difference  between  one  bird  and  an- 
other.    If  I  shoot  a  partridge  it  isn't  my  fault." 

"All  right,"  said  Macleod.  "If  a  partridge  is  fool  enough  to 
be  up  here,  it  deserves  it." 

Just  at  this  moment  Mr.  Ogilvie  suddenly  threw  up  his  hands 
and  his  gun,  as  if  to  protect  his  face.  An  extraordinary  object — 
a  winged  object,  apparently  without  a  tail,  a  whirring  bunch  of 
loose  gray  feathers,  a  creature  resembling  no  known  fowl — had 
been  put  up  by  one  of  the  dogs,  and  it  had  flown  direct  at  Ogil- 
vie's  head.     It  passed  him  at  about  half  a  yard's  distance. 

"  What  in  all  the  world  is  that  ?"  he  cried,  jumping  round  to 
have  a  look  at  it. 

"  Why,"  said  Macleod,  who  was  roaring  with  laughter,  "  it  is 
a  baby  blackcock,  just  out  of  the  shell,  I  should  think." 

A  sudden  noise  behind  him  caused  him  to  wheel  round,  and 
instinctively  he  put  up  his  gun.     He  took  it  down  again. 

"  That  is  the  old  hen,"  said  lie ;  "  we'll  leave  her  to  look  after 
her  chicks.  Ilamish,  get  in  the  dogs,  or  they'll  be  for  eating  some 
of  those  young  ones.  And  you,  Sandy,  where  was  it  you  left  the 
basket?     We  will  go  for  our  splendid  banquet  now,  Ogilvie." 

0 


» 


122  MACLEOD    OF    DAKE. 

That  was  an  odd-looking  party  tliat  by-and-by  miglit  Iiavc  been 
seen  croucliing  under  tlie  lee  of  a  stone  Avnll,  with  a  small  brook 
running  by  their  feet.  They  liad  taken  down  wet  stones  for  seats  ; 
and  these  were  somewhat  insecurely  fixed  on  the  steep  bank. 
But  neither  the  rain,  nor  the  gloom,  nor  the  loneliness  of  the  si- 
lent moors  seemed  to  have  damped  their  spirits  much. 

"  It  really  is  awfully  Irind  of  you,  Ogilvie,"  Macleod  said,  as  he 
threw  half  a  sandwich  to  the  old  black  retriever,  "  to  take  pity 
on  a  solitary  fellow  like  myself.  You  can't  tell  how  glad  I  was 
to  see  you  on  the  bridge  of  the  steamer.  And  now  tltat  you 
})ave  taken  all  the  trouble  to  come  to  this  place,  and  have  taken 
your  chance  of  onr  poor  shooting,  this  is  the  sort  of  dav  you 
get!" 

"My  dear  fellow,*' said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  who  did  not  refuse  to  have 
liis  tumbler  replenished  by  the  attentive  Ilamish, "  it  is  quite  the 
other  way.  I  consider  myself  precions  lucky.  I  consider  the 
shooting  first-rate ;  and  it  isn't  every  fellow  would  deliberately 
hand  the  whole  thing  over  to  his  friend,  as  yon  have  been  doing 
all  day.  And  I  suppose  bad  weather  is  as  bad  elsewhere  as  it 
is  liere." 

Macleod  was  carelessly  filling  his  pipe,  and  obviously  thinking 
of  something  very  different. 

"  Man,  Ogilvie,"  he  said,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "  I  never 
knew  before  how  fearfully  lonely  a  life  we  lead  here.  If  we  were 
out  on  one  of.  the  Treshanish  Islands,  with  nothing  round  us  but 
skarts  and  gulls,  we  could  scarcely  be  lonelier.  And  I  have  been 
thinking  all  the  morning  what  this  must  look  like  to  you." 

He  glanced  ronnd — at  the  sombre  browns  and  greens  of  the 
solitary  moorland,  at  the  black  rocks  jutting  out  here  and  there 
from  the  scant  grass,  at  the  silent  and  gloomy  hills  and  the  over- 
}iai)ging  clouds. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  beautiful  places  v»'c  saw  in  Lon- 
don, and  the  crowds  of  people — the  constant  change,  and  amuse- 
ment, and  life.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  packed  up  your 
traps  to-morrow  morning  and  fled." 

"My  dear  boy,"  observed  Mr.  Ogilvie,  confidently,  "you  are 
giving  me  credit  for  a  vast  amount  of  sentiment.  I  haven't  got 
it.  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  But  I  know  when  I  am  jolly  well 
off.  I  know  when  I  am  in  good  quarters,  with  good  shooting, 
riiid  with  a  good  sort  of  chap  to  go  about  with.     As  for  London 


A    FRIENU.  123 

— ball !  I  rather  tliinlc  you  got  your  eyes  dazzled  for  a  inimite, 
Maclcod.  You  weren't  long  enough  there  to  find  it  out.  And 
wouldn't  you  get  precious  tired  of  big  dinners,  and  garden-par- 
ties, and  all  that  stuff,  after  a  time?  Macleod,  do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  you  ever  saw  anything  at  Lady  Beauregard's  as  fine  as 
ihatr 

And  he  pointed  to  a  goodly  show  of  birds,  with  a  hare  or  two, 
that  Sandy  had  taken  out  of  the  bag,  so  as  to  count  them, 

"Of  course,"  said  this  wise  young  man,  "there  is  one  case  in 
which  that  London  life  is  all  very  well.  If  a  man  is  awful  spoons 
on  a  girl,  then,  of  course,  he  can  trot  after  her  from  house  to 
house,  and  walk  his  feet  off  in  the  Park.  I  remember  a  fellow 
saying  a  very  clever  thing  about  the  reasons  that  took  a  man  into 
society.  What  was  it,  now  ?  Let  me  see.  It  was  either  to  look 
out  for  a  wife,  or — or — " 

Mr.  Ogilvie  was  trying  to  recollect  the  epigram  and  to  light  a 
wax  match  at  the  same  time,  and  he  failed  in  both. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  won't  spoil  it;  but  don't  you  believe  that 
any  one  you  met  in  London  wouldn't  be  precious  glad  to  change 
places  with  us  at  this  moment?" 

Any  one?  What  was  the  situation?  Pouring  rain,  leaden 
skies,  the  gloomy  solitude  of  the  high  moors,  the  sound  of  roar- 
ing waters.  And  here  they  were  crouching  under  a  stone  wall, 
with  their  dripping  fingers  lighting  match  after  match  for  their 
damp  pipes,  with  not  a  few  midges  in  the  moist  and  clammy  air, 
and  with  a  faint  halo  of  steam  plainly  arising  from  the  leather  of 
their  boots.  Wlien  Fionaghal  the  Fair  Stranger  came  from  over 
the  blue  seas  to  her  new  home,  was  this  the  picture  of  Highland 
life  that  was  presented  to  her? 

"  Lady  Beauregard,  for  example  ?"  said  Macleod. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  talking  about  women,"  observed  the  sagacious 
boy ;  "  I  never  could  make  out  a  woman's  notions  about  any- 
thing, I  dare  say  they  like  London  life  well  enough,  for  they 
can  show  off  their  shoulders  and  their  diamonds." 

"  Ogilvie,"  Macleod  said,  with  a  sudden  earnestness,  "  I  am 
fretting  my  heart  out  here — that  is  the  fact.  If  it  were  not  for 
the  poor  old  mother  —  and  Janet — but  I  will  tell  you  another 
time." 

He  got  up  on  his  feet,  and  took  his  gun  from  Sandy.  His 
companion  —  wondering  not  a  little,  but  saying   nothing  —  did 


124  MACLEOD    OF    UAIIE. 

likewise.  Was  this  the  man  who  had  always  sccincd  rather 
proud  of  his  hard  life  on  the  hills?  who  had  regarded  the  idle- 
ness and  effeminacy  of  town  life  with  sometliing  of  an  unex- 
pressed scorn  ?  A  young  fellow  in  robust  health  and  splendid 
spirits — an  eager  sportsman  and  an  accurate  shot — out  for  his 
first  shooting-day  of  the  year:  was  it  intelligible  that  he  should 
be  visited  by  vague  sentimental  regrets  for  London  drawing- 
rooms  and  vapid  talk  ?  The  getting  up  of  a  snipe  interrupted 
these  speculations ;  Ogilvie  blazed  away,  missing  with  both  bar- 
rels ;  Macleod,  who  had  been  patiently  waiting  to  see  the  effect 
of  the  shots,  then  put  up  his  gun,  and  presently  the  bird  came 
tumbling  down,  some  fifty  yards  off. 

"You  haven't  warmed  to  it  yet,"  Macleod  said,  charitably, 
"The  first  half  hour  after  luuclieon  a  man  always  shoots  badly," 

"  Especially  when  his  clothes  arc  glued  to  Ids  skin  from  head 
to  foot,"  said  Ogilvie, 

"  You  will  soon  walk  some  heat  into  yourself," 

And  again  they  went  on,  Macleod  pursuing  the  same  tactics, 
so  that  his  companion  had  the  cream  of  the  shooting.  Despito 
the  continued  soaking  rain,  Ogilvie's  spirits  seemed  to  become 
more  and  more  buoyant.  He  was  shooting  capitally ;  one  very- 
long  shot  he  made,  bringing  down  an  old  blackcock  with  a 
thump  on  the  heather,  causing  Ilamish  to  exclaim, 

"  Well  done,  sir !  It  is  a  glass  of  whiskey  you  will  deserve  for 
that  shot," 

Whereupon  Mr.  Ogilvie  stopped  and  modestly  hinted  that  he 
would  accept  of  at  least  a  moiety  of  the  proffered  reward. 

"  Do  you  know,  Ilamish,"  said  he,  "  that  it  is  the  greatest 
comfort  in  the  world  to  get  wet  right  through,  for  you  know  you 
can't  be  worse,  and  it  gives  you  no  trouble." 

"And  a  whole  glass  will  do  you  no  harm,  sir,"  shrewdly  ob- 
served Hamish, 

"  Not  in  the  clouds," 

"The  what,  sir?" 

"  The  clouds.  Don't  you  consider  we  are  going  shooting 
through  clouds  ?" 

"There  will  be  a  snipe  or  two  down  here,  sir,"  said  Hamish, 
moving  on ;  for  he  could  not  understand  conundrums,  especially 
conundrums  in  English. 

The  day  remained  of  this  moist  character  to  the  end;  but 


A    CONFESSION.  125 

tbcy  had  plenty  of  sport,  and  they  had  a  heavy  bag  on  their  re- 
turn to  Castle  Dare.  Macleod  was  rather  silent  on  the  way 
home.  Ogilvie  was  still  at  a  loss  to  know  why  his  friend  should 
have  taken  this  sudden  dislike  to  living  in  a  place  he  had  lived  in 
all  his  life.  Nor  could  he  understand  why  Macleod  should  have 
deliberately  surrendered  to  bim  the  chance  of  bagging  the  brace 
of  grouse  tbat  got  up  by  the  side  of  the  road.  It  was  scarcely, 
he  considered,  within  the  possibilities  of  human  nature. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   CONFESSION. 

And  once  again  the  bio:  dining-hall  of  Castle  Dare  was  ablaze 

~  CD  Cj 

with  candles;  and  Janet  was  tliere,  gravely  listening  to  the  gar- 
rulous talk  of  the  boy-officer;  and  Keith  Macleod,  in  his  dress 
tartan ;  and  the  noble-looking  old  lady  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
who  more  than  once  expressed  to  her  guest,  in  that  sweetly  mod- 
ulated and  gracious  voice  of  hers,  how  sorry  she  was  he  had  en- 
countered so  bad  a  day  for  the  first  day  of  his  visit. 

"  It  is  different  with  Keith,"  said  she,  "  for  he  is  used  to  be 
out  in  all  weathers.  He  has  been  brought  up  to  live  out-of- 
doors." 

"  But  you  know,  auntie,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  "  a  soldier  is 
much  of  the  same  thing.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  soldier  with  an 
umbrella?" 

"All  I  know  is,"  remarked  Mr.  Ogilvie  —  who,  in  his  smart 
evening  dress,  and  with  his  face  flushed  into  a  rosy  warmth  after 
the  cold  and  the  wet,  did  not  look  particularly  miserable — "  that 
I  don't  remember  ever  enjoying  myself  so  much  in  one  day. 
But  the  fact  is.  Lady  Macleod,  your  son  gave  me  all  the  shoot- 
ing; and  llamish  was  sounding  ray  praises  all  day  long,  so  that  I 
almost  got  to  think  I  could  shoot  the  birds  without  putting  up 
the  gun  at  all ;  and  when  I  niade  a  frightful  bad  miss,  every- 
body declared  the  bird  was  dead  round  the  other  side  of  the 
hill." 

"And  indeed  you  were  not  making  many  misses,"  Macleod 
said.  "  But  we  will  try  your  nerve,  Ogilvie,  with  a  stag  or  two,  I 
hope." 


12G  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"I  am  on  for  anvthinG;.  What  witli  Ilaraisli's  flaltcrv  and 
the  luck  I  had  to-day,  I  begin  to  believe  I  could  bag  a  brace  of 
tigers  if  they  were  coming  at  me  fifty  miles  an  hour." 

Dinner  over,  and  Donald  having  played  his  best  (no  doubt  he 
had  learned  that  the  stranger  was  an  officer  in  the  Ninety-third), 
the  ladies  left  the  dining-hall,  and  presently  Macleod  proposed  to 
liis  friend  that  they  should  go  into  the  library  and  have  a  smoke. 
Ogilvie  vi'as  nothing  loath.  They  went  into  the  odd  little  room, 
with  its  guns  and  rods  and  stuffed  birds,  and,  lying  prominently 
on  the  writing-table,  a  valuable  little  heap  of  dressed  otter-skins. 
Although  the  night  was  scarcely  cold  enough  to  demand  it,  there 
v,as  a  log  of  wood  burning  in  the  fireplace;  there  were  two  easy- 
chairs,  lovv^  and  roomy;  and  on  the  mantel- piece  were  some 
glasses,  and  a  big  black  broad-bottomed  bottle,  such  as  used  to 
carry  the  still  vintages  of  Champagne  even  into  the  remote  wilds 
of  the  Highlands,  before  the  art  of  making  sparkling  wines  had 
been  discovered.  Mr.  Ogilvie  lit  a  cigar,  stretched  out  his  feet 
toward  the  blazing  log,  and  rubbed  his  hands,  wliich  were  not  as 
white  as  usual. 

"  You  are  a  lucky  fellow,  Macleod,"  said  he,  "  and  you  don't 
know  it.  You  have  everything  about  you  here  to  make  life  en- 
joyable." 

"And  I  feel  like  a  slave  tied  to  a  galley  oar,"  said  he,  quickly. 
"  I  try  to  hide  it  from  the  mother — for  it  would  break  her  heart 
— and  from  Janet  too;  but  every  morning  I  rise,  the  dismalness 
of  being  alone  here — of  being  caged  up  alone — eats  more  and 
more  into  mv  heart,  Wlicn  I  look  at  vou,  Otrilvie — to-morrow 
morning  you  could  go  spinning  off  to  any  quarter  you  liked,  to 
see  any  one  you  v.'anted  to  see — " 

"  Macleod,"  said  his  companion,  looking  up,  and  yet  speaking 
rather  slowly  and  timidly,  "  if  I  were  to  say  what  would  natural- 
ly occur  to  anv  one — vou  won't  be  offended?  AVhat  vou  have 
been  telling  me  is  absurd,  unnatural,  impossible,  unless  there  is  a 
woman  in  the  case." 

"And  what  then  ?"  Macleod  said,  quickly,  as  he  regarded  his 
friend  with  a  ^vatchful  eye.     "You  have  guessed?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other :  "  Gertrude  White." 

Macleod  was  silent  for  a  second  or  two.     Then  he  sat  down. 

"  I  scarcely  care  who  knows  it  now,"  said  he,  absently,  "  so 
long  as  I  can't  fight  it  out  of  my  own  mind.    I  tried  not  to  know 


■iL 


A    CONFESSION.  12*1 

it.  I  tried  not  to  believe  it.  I  argued  witli  myself,  laughed  at 
myself,  invented  a  hundred  explanations  of  this  cruel  thing  that 
v.'as  gnawing  at  my  heart  aud  giving  me  no  peace  night  or  day. 
Why,  man,  Ogilvie,  I  have  read  '  Pendennis  !'  "Would  yon  think 
it  possible  that  any  one  who  has  red  '  Pendennis '  could  ever 
fall  in  love  with  an  actress  ?" 

lie  jumped  to  his  feet  again,  walked  up  and  down  for  a  sec- 
ond or  two,  twisting  the  while  a  bit  of  casting -line  round  his 
finger  so  that  it  threatened  to  cut  into  the  ficsh. 

"  But  I  will  tell  you  now,  Ogilvie — now  that  I  am  speaking 
to  any  one  about  it,"  said  he — and  he  spoke  in  a  rapid,  deep, 
earnest  voice,  obviously  not  caring  much  what  his  companion 
might  think,  so  that  he  could  relieve  his  overburdened  mind — 
"  that  it  w  as  not  any  actress  I  fell  in  love  with.  I  never  saw  her 
in  a  theatre  but  that  once.  1  hated  the  theatre  whenever  I  thought 
of  her  in  it.  I  dared  scarcely  open  a  newspaper,  lest  I  should 
see  her  name.  I  turned  away  from  the  posters  in  the  streets: 
when  I  happened  by  some  accident  to  see  her  publicly  paraded 
that  way,  I  shuddered  all  through — with  shame,  I  think ;  and  I 
got  to  look  on  her  father  as  a  sort  of  devil  that  had  been  allowed 
to  drive  about  that  beautiful  creature  in  vile  chains.  Oh,  I  cannot 
tell  you !  When  I  have  heard  him  talking  away  in  that  infernal, 
cold,  precise  way  about  her  duties  to  her  art,  and  insisting  that 
she  should  have  no  sentiments  or  feelings  of  her  own,  and  that 
she  should  simply  use  every  emotion  as  a  bit  of  something  to 
impose  on  the  public — a  bit  of  her  trade,  an  exposure  of  her  own 
feelings  to  make  people  clap  their  hands — I  have  sat  still  and 
wondered  at  myself  that  I  did  not  jump  up  and  catch  liim  by 
the  throat,  and  shake  the  life  out  of  his  miserable  body." 

"  You  have  cut  your  hand,  Macleod." 

He  shook  a  drop  or  two  of  blood  off. 

"  Why,  Ogilvie,  when  I  saw  you  on  the  bridge  of  the  steamer, 
I  nearly  went  mad  with  delight.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Here  is  some 
one  who  has  seen  her  and  spoken  to  her,  who  will  knov/  when  I 
tell  him.'  And  now  that  I  am  telling  you  of  it,  Ogilvie,  you  will 
see — you  will  understand — that  it  is  not  any  actress  I  have  fallen 
in  love  with — it  was  not  the  fascination  of  an  actress  at  all,  but 
the  fascination  of  the  woman  herself;  the  fascination  of  her 
voice,  and  her  sweet  ways,  and  the  very  way  she  walked,  too, 
and  the  tenderness  of  her  licart.     There  was  a  sort  of  wonder 


128  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

about  licr;  wliatever  slie  did  ov  said  was  so  beautiful,  and  sim- 
ple, and  sweet !  And  day  after  day  I  said  to  myself  that  my  in- 
terest in  this  beautiful  woman  was  nothino;.  Some  one  told  me 
there  had  been  rumors :  I  laughed.  Could  any  one  suppose  I 
was  going  to  play  Pendennis  over  again  ?  And  then  as  the  time 
came  for  me  to  leave,  I  was  glad,  and  I  was  miserable  at  the  same 
time.  I  despised  myself  for  being  miserable.  And  then  I  said 
to  myself,  '  This  stupid  misery  is  only  the  fancy  of  a  boy.  Wait 
till  you  get  back  to  Castle  Dare,  and  the  rough  seas,  and  the 
hard  work  of  the  stalking.  There  is  no  sickness  and  sentiment 
on  the  side  of  Ben-an-Sloich.'  And  so  I  was  glad  to  come  to 
Castle  Dare,  and  to  see  the  old  mother,  and  Janet,  and  Uamish ; 
and  the  sound  of  the  pipes,  Ogilvie — when  I  heard  them  away  in 
the  steamer,  that  brought  tears  to  my  eyes ;  and  I  said  to  myself, 
'Now  you  are  at  home  again,  and  there  will  be  no  more  nonsense 
of  idle  thinking.'  And  what  has  it  come  to?  I  would  give 
everything  I  possess  in  the  world  to  see  her  face  once  more — ay, 
to  be  in  the  same  town  where  she  is.  I  read  the  papers,  trying 
to  find  out  where  she  is.  Morning  and  night  it  is  the  same — a 
fire,  burning  and  burning,  of  impatience,  and  misery,  and  a  crav- 
ing just  to  see  her  face  and  hear  her  speak." 

Ogilvie  did  not  know  what  to  sav.  There  was  sometliing  in 
this  passionate  confession — in  the  cry  wrung  from  a  strong  man, 
and  in  the  rude  eloquence  that  here  and  there  burst  from  him 
— that  altogether  drove  ordinary  words  of  counsel  or  consolation 
out  of  the  young  man's  mind. 

"  You  have  been  hard  hit,  Macleod,"  he  said,  with  some  ear- 
nestness. 

"  That  is  just  it,"  Macleod  said,  almost  bitterly.  "  You  fire  at 
a  bird.  You  think  you  have  missed  him.  lie  sails  away  as  if 
there  was  nothing  the  matter,  and  the  rest  of  the  covey  no  doubt 
think  he  is  as  well  as  any  one  of  them.  But  suddenly  you  see 
there  is  something  wrong.  lie  gets  apart  from  the  others ;  he 
tov/crs ;  then  down  he  comes,  as  dead  as  a  stone.  You  did  not 
guess  anything  of  this  in  London  ?" 

"  AVcU,"  said  Ogilvie,  rather  inclined  to  beat  about  the  busl), 
"  I  thought  you  were  paying  her  a  good  deal  of  attention.  But 
then — she  is  very  popular,  you  know,  and  receives  a  good  deal 
of  attention;  and — and  the  fact  is,  she  is  an  uncommonly  pretty 
girl,  and  I  thought  you  were  flirting  a  bit  with  her,  but  nothing 


A    CONFESSION.  129 

more  than  tliat.  I  liad  no  idea  it  waf;  something  more  serious 
than  tliat." 

"Ay,"  Macleod  said,  "  it"  T  myself  liad  only  known  !  If  it  was 
a  plunge — as  people  talk  about  falling  in  love  with  a  woman — 
why,  the  next  morniiig  I  would  have  shaken  myself  free  of  it,  as 
a  Newfoundland  dog  shakes  himself  free  of  the  water.  But  a 
fever,  a  madness,  that  slowly  gains  on  you — and  you  look  around 
and  say  it  is  nothing,  but  day  after  day  it  burns  more  and  more. 
And  it  is  no  longer  something  that  you  can  look  at  apart  from 
yourself — it  is  your  very  self ;  and  sometimes,  Ogilvie,  I  wonder 
whether  it  is  all  true,  or  whether  it  is  mad  1  am  altogctlier. 
Newcastle — do  you  know  Newcastle?" 

"  I  have  passed  through  it,  of  course,"  his  companion  said, 
more  and  more  amazed  at  the  vehemence  of  his  speech. 

"  It  is  there  she  is  now — I  have  seen  it  in  the  papers ;  and  it 
is  Newcastle — Newcastle — Newcastle — I  am  thinking  of  from 
morning  till  night,  and  if  I  could  only  see  one  of  the  streets  of 
it  I  should  be  glad.  They  say  it  is  smoky  and  grimy  ;  I  should 
be  breathing  sunlight  if  I  lived  in  the  most  squalid  of  all  its 
houses.  And  they  say  she  is  going  to  Liverpool,  and  to  Man- 
chester, and  to  Leeds;  and  it  is  as  if  my  very  life  were  being 
drawn  away  from  me.  I  try  to  think  what  people  may  be  around 
her;  I  try  to  imagine  what  she  is  doing  at  a  particular  hour  of 
the  day;  and  I  feel  as  if  I  were  shut  away  in  an  island  in  tlie 
middle  of  the  Atlantic,  with  nothing  but  the  sound  of  the  waves 
around  my  ears.  Ogilvie,  it  is  enough  to  drive  a  man  out  of  his 
senses." 

"But  look  here,  Macleod,"  said  Ogilvie,  pulling  liimself  togeth- 
er; for  it  was  hard  to  resist  the  influence  of  this  vehement  and 
uncontrollable  passion — "  look  here,  man  ;  why  don't  you  think 
of  it  in  cold  blood  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to  sympathize  with  you 
as  a  friend?  Or  would  you  like  to  know  what  any  ordinary 
man  of  the  world  would  think  of  the  whole  case  ?" 

"Don't  give  me  your  advice,  Ogilvie,"  said  he,  untwining  and 

tlirowing  away  the  bit  of  casting-line  that  had  cut  into  his  finger. 

"It  is  far  beyond  that.     Let  me  talk  to   you  —  that  is  all.     I 

should  have  gone  mad  in  another  week,  if  I  had  had  no  one  to 

speak  to;  and  as  it  is,  what  better  am  I  than  mad?     It  is  not 

anything  to  be  analyzed  and  cured:  it  is  my  very  self;  and  what 

have  I  become  ?" 

6* 


130  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  But  look  here,  Macleod — I  want  to  ask^you  a  question  :  v/onld 
you  marry  licr  ?" 

Tlic  coniinon-sensc  of  the  younger  man  was  i-eas.serting  itself. 
This  was  what  any  one — looking  at  the  whole  situation  from  the 
Aldershot  point  of  view — would  at  the  outset  demand  ?  But  if 
Macleod  had  known  all  that  was  implied  in  the  question,  it  is 
probable  that  a  friendship  that  had  existed  from  boyhood  would 
then  and  there  have  been  severed.  He  took  it  that  Ogilvie  was 
merely  referring  to  the  thousand  and  one  obstacles  that  lay  be- 
tween him  and  that  obvious  and  natural  goal. 

"  Marry  her !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Yes,  you  arc  right  to  look  at 
it  in  that  way — to  think  of  what  it  will  all  lead  to.  AVhen  I 
look  forward,  I  see  nothing  but  a  maze  of  impossibilities  and 
trouble.  One  might  as  well  have  fallen  in  love  with  one  of  the 
Roman  maidens  in  the  Temple  of  Vesta.  She  is  a  white  slave. 
She  is  a  sacrifice  to  the  monstrous  theories  of  that  bloodless  old 
pagan,  her  father.  And  then  she  is  courted  and  flattered  on  all 
sides ;  she  lives  in  a  smoke  of  incense :  do  you  think,  even  snp- 
posing  that  all  other  difficulties  were  removed — that  she  cared 
for  no  one  else,  that  she  were  to  care  for  me,  that  the  influence 
of  her  father  was  gone — do  you  think  she  would  surrender  all 
the  admiration  she  provokes  and  the  excitement  of  the  life  she 
leads,  to  come  and  live  in  a  dungeon  in  the  Highlands?  A  single 
day  like  to-day  would  kill  her,  she  is  so  fine  and  delicate — like  a 
rose  leaf,  I  have  often  thought.  No,  no,  Ogilvie,  I  have  thought 
of  it  every  v.-ay.  It  is  like  a  riddle  that  you  twist  and  twist 
about  to  try  and  get  the  answer;  and  I  can  get  no  answer  at  all, 
unless  wishing  that  I  had  nev^r  been  born.  And  perhaps  that 
would  have  been  better." 

"You  take  too  gloomy  a  view  of  it,  Macleod,"  said  Ogilvie. 
"  For  one  thing,  look  at  the  conmion-sense  of  the  matter.  Sup- 
pose that  she  is  very  ambitious  to  succeed  in  lier  profession,  that 
is  all  very  well ;  but,  mind  you,  it  is  a  very  hard  life.  And  if 
you  put  before  her  the  chance  of  being  styled  Lady  Macleod — 
well,  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  should  say  that  would  count  for 
something.     I  haven't  known  many  actresses  myself — " 

"  That  is  idle  talk,"  Macleod  said ;  and  then  he  added,  proud- 
ly, "  You  do  not  know  this  woman  as  I  know  her." 

He  put  aside  his  pipe ;  but  in  truth  he  had  never  lit  it. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  with  a  tired  look,  "  I  have  bored  j'ou  enough. 


REBELLION.  131 

You  won't  mind,  Ogilvic  ?  The  Avholc  of  the  day  I  was  saying 
to  myself  that  I  would  keep  all  this  thing  to  myself,  if  my  heart 
burst  over  it;  but  you  see  I  could  not  do  it,  and  I  have  made 
you  the  victim,  after  all.  And  we  will  go  into  the  drawing-room 
now;  and  we  will  have  a  song.  And  that  was  a  very  good  song 
vou  sang  one  night  in  London,  Ogilvic — it  was  about  '  Death's 
black  wine' — and  do  you  think  you  could  sing  us  that  song  to- 
night?" 

Ogilvie  looked  at  him. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  the  way  you  are  talking, 
Macleod,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh  that  did  not  sound  quite  natural, 
"have  you  forgotten  it?  Well,  then,  Janet  will  sing  us  another 
song— that  is, '  Farewell,  Manchester.'  And  we  will  go  to  bed  soon 
to-night,  for  I  have  not  been  having  much  sleep  lately.  But  it 
is  a  good  song — it  is  a  song  you  do  not  easily  forget — that  about 
'  Death's  black  wine.'  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

REBELLION. 

And  where  was  she  now — that  strange  creature  who  liad  be- 
wildered and  blinded  his  eyes  and  so  sorely  stricken  his  heart? 
It  was,  perhaps,  not  the  least  part  of  his  troubls  that  all  his  pas- 
sionate yearning  to  see  her,  and  all  his  thinking  about  her  and 
the  scenes  in  which  he  had  met  her,  seemed  unable  to  conjure 
up  any  satisfactory  vision  of  her.  The  longing  of  his  heart  went 
out  from  him  to  meet — a  phantom.  She  appeared  before  him  in 
a  hundred  shapes,  now  one,  now  the  other ;  but  all  possessed  with 
a  terrible  fascination  from  which  it  was  in  vain  for  him  to  try 
to  flee. 

Which  was  she,  then — the  pale,  and  sensitive,  and  thoughtful- 
eyed  girl  who  listened  with  such  intense  interest  to  the  gloomy 
talcs  of  the  Northern  seas ;  who  was  so  fine,  and  perfect,  and  deli- 
cate ;  who  walked  so  gracefully  and  smiled  so  sweetly ;  the  timid 
and  gentle  companion  and  friend  ? 

Or  the  wild  coquette,  with  her  arch,  shy  ways,  and  her  serious 
laughing,  and  her  befooling  of  the  poor  stupid  lover  ?     He  could 


132  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

hear  licr  laugh  now ;  ho  could  sec  her  feed  her  canary  from  her 
own  lips.  Where  was  the  old  mother  whom  that  madcap  girl 
teased  and  petted  and  delighted? 

Or  was  not  this  she — the  calm  and  gracious  woman  who  re- 
ceived as  a  matter  of  right  the  multitude  of  attentions  that  all 
men — and  women  too — were  glad  to  pay  her?  The  air  fine 
about  her ;  the  south  winds  fanning  her  cheek ;  the  day  long,  and 
balmy,  and  clear.  The  white-sailed  boats  glide  slowly  through 
the  water ;  there  is  a  sound  of  music  and  of  gentle  talk;  a  but- 
terfly comes  fluttering  over  the  blue  summer  seas.  And  then 
there  is  a  murmuring  refrain  in  the  lapping  of  the  waves :  Rose 
Leaf!  Rose  Leaf!  what  faint  tvincl  will  carry  you  aioay  to  the 
south  ? 

Or  this  audacious  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  with  the  flashing 
black  eyes,  and  a  saucy  smile  on  her  lips  ?  She  knows  that  every 
one  regards  her ;  but  what  of  that  ?  Away  she  goes  through  the 
brilliant  throng  with  that  young  Highland  officer,  with  glowing 
light  and  gay  costumes  and  joyous  music  all  around  her.  What 
do  you  think  of  her,  you  poor  clown,  standing  all  alone  and  mel- 
ancholy, with  your  cap  and  bells  ?  Has  she  pierced  your  heart 
too  with  a  flash  of  the  saucy  black  eyes  ? 

But  there  is  still  another  vision ;  and  perhaps  this  solitary 
dreamer,  who  has  no  eyes  for  the  great  slopes  of  Ben-an-Sloich 
that  stretch  into  the  clouds,  and  no  ears  for  the  soft  calling  of 
the  sea-birds  as  they  wheel  over  his  head,  tries  hardest  to  fix  this 
one  in  his  memory.  Here  she  is  the  neat  and  watchful  house- 
mistress,  with  all  things  bright  and  shining  around  her;  and  she 
appears,  too,  as  the  meek  daughter  and  the  kind  and  caressing 
sister.  Is  it  not  hard  that  she  should  be  torn  from  this  quiet  lit- 
tle haven  of  domestic  duties  and  family  affection  to  be  bound 
hand  and  foot  in  the  chains  of  art,  and  flung  into  the  arena  to 
amuse  that  great  ghoul-faced  thing,  the  public?  The  white  slave 
does  not  complain.  While  as  yet  she  may,  she  presides  over  the 
cheerful  table;  and  the  beautiful  small  hands  are  helpful,  and 
that  light  morning  costume  is  a  wonder  of  simplicity  and  grace. 
And  then  the  garden,  and  the  soft  summer  air,  and  the  pretty 
ways  of  the  two  sisters :  why  should  not  this  simple,  homely, 
beautiful  life  last  forever,  if  only  the  summer  and  the  roses  would 
last  forever  ? 

But  suppose  now  that  wg  turn  aside  from  these  fanciful  pict- 


REBELLION.  133 

urcs  of  Maclcocl's  and  take  a  more  commonplace  one  of  wliicli 
he  could  have  no  notion  whatever.  It  is  nifjlit — a  Avct  and  dis- 
mal  niiifht — and  a  four-wheeled  cab  is  ioltini;  alonix  thronirh  the 
dark  and  almost  deserted  thoroughfares  of  Manchester.  Miss 
Gertrude  White  is  in  the  cab,  and  the  truth  is  that  she  is  in  a 
thorough  bad  temper.  Whether  it  was  that  the  unseemly  scuffle 
that  took  place  in  the  gallery  during  the  performance,  or  whether 
it  is  that  the  streets  of  Manchester,  in  the  midst  of  rain  and  after 
midnight  are  not  inspiriting,  or  whether  it  is  merely  that  she  has 
got  a  headache,  it  is  certain  that  Miss  White  is  in  an  ill-humor, 
and  that  she  has  not  spoken  a  word  to  her  maid,  her  only  com- 
panion, since  together  they  left  the  theatre.  At  length  the  cab 
stops  opposite  a  hotel,  which  is  apparently  closed  for  the  night. 
They  get  out,  cross  the  muddy  pavements  under  the  glare  of  a 
gas-lamp  ;  after  some  delay  get  into  the  hotel ;  pass  through  a 
dimly  lit  and  empty  corridor;  and  then  Miss  AVhite  bids  her 
maid  good-night  and  opens  the  door  of  a  small  parlor. 

Here  there  is  a  more  cheerful  scene.  There  is  a  fire  in  the 
room  ;  and  there  is  supper  laid  on  the  table ;  while  Mr.  Septimus 
White,  with  his  feet  on  the  fender  and  his  back  turned  to  the 
lamp,  is  seated  in  an  easy-chair,  and  holding  up  a  book  to  the 
light  so  that  tlie  pages  almost  touch  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles. 
Miss  White  sits  down  on  the  sofa  on  the  dark  side  of  the  room. 
She  has  made  no  response  to  his  greeting  of  "  Well,  Gerty  ?" 

At  length  Mr.  White  becomes  aware  that  his  daughter  is  sit- 
ting there  with  her  things  on,  and  he  turns  from  his  book  to  her. 

"Well,  Gerty,"  he  repeats,  "aren't  you  going  to  have  some 
supper  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  says. 

" Come,  come,"  he  remonstrates,  "that  won't  do.  You  must 
have  some  supper.     Shall  Jane  get  you  a  cup  of  tea?" 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  one  up  below ;  besides,  I  don't 
want  it,"  says  Miss  White,  rather  wearily. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  answers ;  and  then  she  looks  at  the  mantel- 
piece.    "  No  letter  from  Carry  ?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  make  her  an  actress,  papa,"  observes 
Miss  White,  with  no  relevance,  but  with  considerable  sharpness  in 
her  tone. 


134  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

In  fact,  tliis  remark  was  so  unexpected  and  uncalled-for  that 
Mr.  White  suddenly  put  liis  book  down  on  his  knee,  and,  turned 
his  gold  spectacles  full  on  his  daughter's  face. 

"  I  will  beg  you  to  remember,  Gerty,"  he  remarked,  with  some 
dignity,  "  that  I  did  not  make  you  an  actress,  if  that  is  what  you 
imply.  If  it  had  not  been  entirely  your  wish,  I  should  never 
have  encouraged  you ;  and  I  think  it  shows  great  ingratitude, 
not  only  to  me  but  to  the  public  also,  that  v/hen  you  have  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  a  position  such  as  any  woman  in  the  country 
might  envy,  you  treat  your  good  fortune  with  indifference,  and 
show  nothing  but  discontent.  I  cannot  tell  what  has  come  oyer 
you  of  late.  You  ought  certainly  to  be  the  last  to  say  anything 
against  a  profession  that  has  gained  for  you  sucli  a  large  share  of 
public  favor — " 

"  Public  favor !"  she  said,  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "  Who  is  the 
favorite  of  the  public  in  this  very  town  ?  Why,  the  girl  who 
plays  in  that  farce — who  smokes  a  cigarette,  and  walks  round  the 
stage  like  a  man,  and  dances  a  breakdown.  Why  wasn't  I  taught 
to  dance  breakdowns  ?" 

Her  father  was  deeply  vexed;  for  this  v.'as  not  the  first  time 
she  had  dropped  small  rebellious  hints.  And  if  this  feeling  grew, 
she  might  come  to  question  his  most  cherished  theories. 

"  I  should  think  you  were  jealous  of  that  girl,"  said  he,  petu- 
lantly, "  if  it  were  not  too  ridiculous.  You  ought  to  remember 
that  she  is  an  established  favorite  here.  She  has  amused  these 
people  year  after  year ;  they  look  on  her  as  an  old  friend ;  they 
are  grateful  to  her.  The  means  she  uses  to  make  people  laugh 
may  not  meet  with  your  approval ;  but  she  knov/s  her  own  busi- 
ness, doubtless ;  and  she  succeeds  in  her  own  way." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Miss  White,  as  she  put  aside  her  bonnet,  "I 
hope  you  won't  bring  up  Carry  to  this  sort  of  life." 

"  To  what  sort  of  life  ?"  her  father  exclaimed,  angrily. 
"  Haven't  you  everything  that  can  make  life  pleasant  ?  I  don't 
know  what  more  you  want.  You  have  not  a  single  care.  You 
are  petted  and  caressed  wherever  you  go.  And  you  ought  to 
have  the  delight  of  knowing  that  the  further  you  advance  in  your 
art  the  further  rewards  are  in  store  for  you.  The  way  is  clear 
before  you.  You  have  youth  and  strength ;  and  the  public  is 
only  too  anxious  to  applaud  whatever  you  undertake.  And  yet 
you  complain  of  your  manner  of  life." 


REDELLION.  1C5 

"  It  isn't  tlic  life  of  .1  human  being  at  all,"  she  said,  boldly — 
but  perhaps  it  was  only  her  headache,  or  her  weariness,  or  her  ill- 
hnnior,  that  drove  her  to  this  rebellion  ;  "  it  is  the  cuttino-  one's 
self  off  from  everything  that  makes  lite  worth  having.  It  is  a 
continual  degradation — the  exhibition  of  feelings  that  ought  to 
be  a  woman's  most  sacred  and  secret  possession.  And  v.hat  will 
the  end  of  it  be  ?  Already  I  begin  to  think  I  don't  know  what 
I  am.  I  have  to  sympathize  with  so  many  characters — I  have  to 
be  so  many  different  people — that  I  don't  quite  know  what  my 
own  character  is,  or  if  I  have  any  at  all — " 

Her  father  was  staring  at  her  in  amazement.  What  had  led 
her  into  these  fantastic  notions  ?  While  she  was  professing  that 
her  ambition  to  become  a  great  and  famous  actress  was  the  one 
ruling  thought  and  object  of  her  life,  was  she  really  envying  the 
poor  domestic  drudge  whom  she  saw  coming  to  the  theatre  to 
enjoy  herself  with  her  fool  of  a  husband,  having  withdrawn  for 
an  hour  or  two  fronj  her  house-keeping  books  and  her  squalling 
children?  At  all  events,  Miss  White  left  him  in  no  doubt  as  to 
her  sentiments  at  that  precise  moment.  She  talked  rapidly,  and 
with  a  good  deal  of  bitter  feeling ;  but  it  was  quite  obvious,  from 
the  clearness  of  her  line  of  contention,  that  she  had  been  thinking 
over  the  matter.  And  while  it  was  all  a  prayer  that  her  sister 
Carry  might  be  left  to  live  a  natural  life,  and  that  she  should  not 
be  compelled  to  exhibit,  for  gain  or  applause,  emotions  which  a 
woman  would  naturally  lock  up  in  her  own  heart,  it  was  also  a 
bitter  protest  against  her  own  lot.  What  was  she  to  become, 
she  asked?  A  dram-drinker  of  fictitious  sentiment?  A  Ten- 
minutes'  Emotionalist  ?  It  was  this  last  phrase  that  flashed  in  a 
new  light  on  her  father's  bewildered  mind.  He  remembered  it 
instantly.     So  that  was  the  source  of  inoperation  ? 

"  Oh,  I  see  now,"  he  said,  with  angry  scorn.  "  You  have  learn- 
ed your  lesson  well.  A  'Ten-minutes'  Emotionalist:'  I  remem- 
ber.    I  was  wondering  who  had  put  such  stuff  into  your  head." 

She  colored  deeply,  but  said  nothing, 

"And  so  you  are  taking  your  notion,  as  to  what  sort  of  life 
you  would  lead,  from  a  Highland  savage — a  boor  whose  only  oc- 
cupations are  eating  and  drinking  and  killing  wild  animals.  A 
fiine  guide,  truly  1  He  has  had  so  much  experience  in  assthetic 
matters !  Or  is  it  metcqoheesics  is  his  hobby  ?  And  what,  pray, 
is  his  notion  as  to  what  life  should  be  ?     That  the  noblest  object 


136  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

of  a  man's  ambition  slionld  be  to  kill  a  stag?  It  was  a  mistake 
for  Dante  to  let  liis  work  cat  into  bis  beart ;  be  sbonld  bavc 
devoted  bimself  to  sliooting  rabbits.  And  Rapbacl — don't  you 
tbink  be  would  bave  improved  bis  digestion  by  giving  up  pan- 
dering to  tbe  public  taste  for  pretty  tbings,  and  taking  to  bunt- 
ing wild-boars?  That  is  tlie  tbeory,  isn't  it?  Is  tbat  tbe  mcta- 
jiheesics  you  liave  learned  ?" 

"You  may  talk  about  it,"  sbe  said,  ratber  luimbly  —  for  slic 
knew  very  well  sbe  could  not  stand  against  ber  fatlier  in  argu- 
ment, especially  on  a  subject  tbat  be  ratber  prided  liimself  on 
baving  mastered  —  "but  you  are  not  a  woman,  and  you  don't 
know  wbat  a  woman  feels  about  snob  tbings." 

"And  since  wbcn  bave  you  made  tbe  discovery?  Wbat  bas 
bappened  to  convince  you  so  suddenly  tbat  your  professional  life 
is  a  degradation  ?" 

"  Oh,"  sbe  said,  carelessly,  "  I  was  scarcely  tbinking  of  myself. 
Of  course  I  know  wbat  lies  before  Jiie.  It  was  about  Carry  I 
spoke  to  you." 

"  Carry  sball  decide  for  herself,  as  you  did ;  and  when  sbe  has 
done  so,  I  liope  sbe  won't  come  and  blame  me  tbe  first  time  she 
gets  some  ridiculous  idea  into  her  head." 

"  Now,  papa,  tbat  isn't  fair,"  the  eldest  sister  said,  in  a  gentler 
voice.  "  You  know  I  never  blamed  you.  I  only  showed  you 
that  even  a  popular  actress  sometimes  remembers  that  she  is  a 
woman.  And  if  she  is  a  Avoman,  you  must  let  her  have  a  grum- 
ble occasionally." 

This  conciliatory  tone  smoothed  tbe  matter  down  at  once ; 
and  Mr.  "White  turned  to  his  book  with  another  recommendation 
to  his  daughter  to  take  some  supper  and  get  to  bed. 

"  I  will  go  now,"  she  said,  ratber  wearily,  as  sbe  rose.  "  Good- 
night, papa —     What  is  that  ?" 

She  was  looking  at  a  parcel  that  lay  on  a  chair. 

"  It  came  for  you,  to-night.  There  was  seven  and  sixpence  to 
pay  for  extra  carriage — it  seems  to  have  been  forwarded  from 
place  to  place." 

"As  if  I  had  not  enough  luggage  to  carry  about  with  me!" 
she  said. 

But  she  proceeded  to  open  the  parcel  all  the  same,  whicb  seem- 
ed to  be  very  carefully  swathed  in  repeated  covers  of  canvas. 
And  presently  she  uttered  a  slight  exclamation.     She  took  up 


UKDKLLION.  137 

one  dark  object  after  another,  passing  licr  liand  over  them,  and 
back  a^ain,  and  finallv  prcssuH''  them  to  her  cheek. 

"Just  look  at  these,  papa — did  you  ever  iu  all  your  Ufe  see 
anything  so  beautiful  ?" 

She  came  to  a  letter,  too ;  which  she  hastily  tore  open  and 
read.  It  was  a  brief  note,  in  terms  of  great  respect,  written  by 
Sir  Keith  Macleod,  and  begging  Miss  White's  acceptance  of  a 
small  parcel  of  otter-skins,  which  he  hoped  might  be  made  into 
some  article  of  attire.  Moreover,  he  had  asked  his  cousin's  ad- 
vice on  the  matter;  and  she  thought  there  were  enough  ;  but  if 
Miss  White,  on  further  inquiry,  found  she  would  rather  have  one 
or  two  more,  he  had  no  doubt  that  within  the  next  month  or  so 
he  could  obtain  these  also.     It  was  a  very  respectful  note. 

But  there  was  no  shyness  or  timidity  about  the  manner  of 
Miss  White  when  she  spread  those  skins  out  along  the  sofa,  and 
again  and  again  took  them  up  to  praise  their  extraordinary  gloss- 
iness and  softness. 

"  Papa,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  a  present  fit  for  a  prince  to 
make  1" 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  find  them  useful." 

"  And  whatever  is  made  of  them,"  said  she,  with  decision,  "  that 
I  shall  keep  for  myself — it  won't  be  one  of  my  stage  properties." 

Iler  spirits  rose  wonderfully.  She  kept  on  chattinV  to  her  fa- 
ther about  these  lovely  skins,  and  the  jacket  she  would  have  of 
them.  She  asked  why  he  was  so  dull  that  evening.  She  pro- 
tested that  she  would  not  take  any  supper  unless  he  had  some 
too ;  whereupon  he  had  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  claret,  which,  at 
all  events,  compelled  him  to  lay  aside  his  book.  And  then,  when 
she  had  finished  her  supper,  she  suddenly  said, 

"  Now,  Pappy  dear,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  great  secret.  I 
am  going  to  change  the  song  in  the  second  act." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  he  ;  but  he  was  rather  glad  to  see  her  come 
back  to  the  interest  of  her  work. 

"  I  am,"  she  said,  seriously.     "  Would  you  like  to  hear  it?"' 

"  You  will  wake  the  house  up." 

"And  if  the  public  expect  an  actress  to  please  them,"  she  said, 
saucily,  "  they  must  take  the  consequences  of  her  practicing." 

She  went  to  the  piano,  and  opened  it.  There  was  a  fine  cour- 
age in  her  manner  as  she  struck  the  chords  and  sang  the  open- 
ing lines  of  the  gay  song: 


138  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

" '  Threescore  o'  nobles  rode  up  the  King's  ha', 
But  bonnie  Glenogie's  the  flower  of  them  a', 
Wi'  his  milk-white  steed  and  his  bounie  black  c'e '  " 

• — but  here  her  voice  dropped,  and  it  was  almost  in  a  whisper 

that  she  let  the  maiden  of  the  song  utter  tlie  secret  wish  of  li'jr 

heart — 

" '  Glenoffie,  dear  mitliei;  Gleiiorjie  for  me.' 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  turning  round  to  her  father,  and  speak- 
ing in  a  business-Ukc  way,  though  there  was  a  spice  of  proud 
niiscliief  in  her  eyes,  "  there  is  a  stumbling-block,  or  where  would 
the  story  be !  Glcnogie  is  poor ;  the  mother  will  not  let  her 
daughter  have  anything  to  do  with  him  ;  the  girl  takes  to  her  bed 
with  the  definite  intention  of  dving." 

Slie  turned  to  the  piano  again, 

" '  There  is,  Glcnogie,  a  letter  for  tliee, 
01),  there  is,  Glcnogie,  a  letter  for  thee. 
The  Srst  line  he  looked  at,  a  liglit  laugh  laughed  he ; 
But  ere  he  read  through  it,  tears  blinded  his  c'c.' 

*'  How  do  you  like  the  air,  papa  ?" 

Mr.  White  did  not  seem  over  well  pleased.  He  was  quite 
aware  that  his  daughter  was  a  very  clever  young  woman  ;  and 
he  did  not  know  what  insane  idea  might  have  got  into  her  head 
of  throwing  an  allegory  at  him. 

"  The  air,"  said  he,  coldly,  "  is  well  enough.  But  I  hope  you 
don't  expect  an  English  audience  to  understand  that  doggerel 
Scotch." 

"Glcnogie  understood  it,  any  way,"  said  she,  blithely,  "and 
naturally  he  rode  off  at  once  to  sec  his  dying  sweetheart. 

"  '  Pale  and  wan  was  she,  when  Glcnogie  gaed  ben. 
But  rosy-red  grew  she  when  Glcnogie  sat  down. 
She  turned  away  her  head,  but  the  smile  was  in  her  c'c, 
'  Oh,  binna  feared,  mither,  Fll  mai/be  no  dec.''  " 

She  shut  the  piano. 

"Isn't  it  charmingly  simple  and  tender,  papa?"  she  said,  witli 
the  same  mischief  in  her  eyes. 

"I  think  it  is  foolish  of  you  to  think  of  exchanging  that  piece 
of  doggerel — " 

"For  what?"  said  slie,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
"For  this?" 


"fiitr  a   nriATA  !"  139 

And  tlicrcwitli  slie  sang  these  lines — giving  an  admirable  bur- 
lesque imitation  of  herself,  and  her  own  gestures,  and  her  own 
singing  in  the  part  she  was  then  performing : 

" '  The  morning  bells  are  swinging,  ringing, 
Hail  to  the  day  ! 
The  birds  are  winging,  singing 
To  the  golden  day — 
To  the  joyous  day — 
The  morning  bells  are  swinging,  ringing. 
And  what  do  they  say  ? 
0  bring  my  love  to  my  love ! 
0  bring  my  love  to-day ! 
0  bring  my  love  to  my  love ! 
To  be  my  love  alway !' " 

It  certainly  was  cruel  to  treat  poor  Mrs.  Ross's  homc-mado 
lyric  so;  but  Miss  AVIiitc  was  burlesquing  herself  as  well  as  the 
soncr  she  had  to  sinu'.  And  as  her  father  did  not  kiiow  to  what 
lengths  this  iconoclastic  fit  might  lead  her,  he  abruptly  bade  her 
good-night  and  went  to  bed,  no  doubt  hoping  that  next  morning 
would  find  the  demon  exorcised  from  his  daughter. 

As  for  her,  she  had  one  more  loving  look  over  the  skins,  and 
then  she  carefully  read  through  the  note  that  accompanied  them. 
There  was  a  smile  on  her  face — perhaps  of  pleasure,  perhaps  of 
amusement  at  the  simplicity  of  the  lines.  However,  she  turned 
aside,  and  got  hold  of  a  small  v.riting-desk,  whicii  she  placed  on 

the  table. 

"  '  Oh,  here  is,  Glcnogic,  a  letter  for  thee,'  " 

she  hummed  to  herself,  with  a  rather  proud  look  on  her  face,  aa 
she  seated  herself  and  opened  the  desk. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  Flim    A    EIIATA  !" 


Young  Ogilvic  liad  obtained  some  brief  extension  of  his  leave, 
but  even  tliat  was  drawing  to  a  close ;  and  Macleod  saw^  with  a 
secret  dread  that  the  hour  of  his  departure  v.-as  fast  approaching. 
And  yet  he  had  not  victiujized  the  young  man.  After  that  first 
burst  of  confidence  he  had  been  sparing  in  his  references  to  the 
trouble  that  had  beset  him.     Of  what  avail,  besides,  could  Mr. 


140  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Ogilvic's  counsels  be  ?  Once  or  twice  Le  had  ventured  to  ap- 
proach the  subject  with  some  commonplace  assurances  that  there 
were  always  ditficulties  in  the  way  of  two  people  getting  married, 
and  that  they  had  to  be  overcome  with  patience  and  courage. 
The  difficulties  that  Macleod  knew  of  as  between  liimsclf  and 
that  impossible  goal  were  deeper  than  any  mere  obtaining  of  the 
consent  of  friends  or  the  arrangement  of  a  way  of  living.  From 
the  moment  that  the  terrible  truth  was  forced  on  him  he  had 
never  regarded  his  case  but  as  quite  hopeless ;  and  yet  that  in 
no  way  moderated  his  consuming  desire  to  see  her — to  hear  her 
speak — even  to  have  correspondence  with  her.  It  was  something 
that  he  could  send  her  a  parcel  of  otter-skins. 

But  all  the  satne  Mr.  Ogilvie  was  in  some  measure  a  friend  of 
hers.     He  knew  her — he  had  spoken  to  her — no  doubt  when  lie 
returned  to  the  South  he  would  see  her  one  day  or  another,  and 
he  would  surely  speak  of  the  visit  he  had  paid  to  Castle  Dare. 
Macli.'od  set  about- making  that  visit  as  pleasant  as  might  be; 
and  the  weather  aided  him.     The  fair  heavens  shone  over  the 
windy  blue  seas ;  and  the  green  island  of  Ulva  lay  basking  in 
the  sunlight ;  and  as  the  old  Umpire,  with  her  heavy  bows  part- 
ing the  rushing  waves,  carried  them  out  to  the  west,  they  could 
see  the  black  skarts  standing  on  the  rocks  of  Gometra,  and  clouds 
of  puffins  wheeling  round  the  dark  and  lonely  pillars  of  Staffa ; 
v/hile  away  in  the  north,  as  they  got  clear  of  Treshanish  Point, 
the  mountains  of  Rum  and  of  Skye  appeared  a  pale  and  spectral 
blue,  like  ghostly  shadows  at  the  horizon.     And  there  was  no 
end  to  the  sports  and  pastimes  that  occupied  day  after  day.     On 
their  very  first  expedition  up  the  lonely  corries  of  Ben-an-Sloich 
young  Ogilvie  brought  down   a  royal  hart  —  though  his  hand 
trembled  for  ten  minutes  after  he  pulled  the  trigger.     They  shot 
Avild-duck  in  Loch  Scridain,  and  seals  in  Loch-na-Keal,  and  rock- 
pigeons   along  the  face  of  the  honey -combed  cliffs  of  Gribun. 
And  what  was  this  new  form  of  sport?     They  were  one  day  be- 
ing pulled  in  the  gig  up  a  shallow  loch  in  the  hope  of  finding 
a  brood  or  two  of  young  mergansers,  when   Macleod,  who  was 
seated  up  at  the  bow,  suddenly  called  to  the  man  to  stop.     lie 
beckoned  to  Ogilvie,  who  went  forward  and  saw,  quietly  moving 
over  the  sea-weed,  a  hideously  ugly  fish  with  the  flat  head  and 
sinister  eyes  of  a  snake.      Macleod  picked  np  the  boat-hook, 
steadied  himself  in  the  boat,  and  then  drove  the  iron  spike  down. 


"rillU    A    lillATA  !"  141 

"  I  have  liini,"  he  said.  "  That  is  the  snake  of  the  sea — I  liato 
him  as  I  hate  a  serpent." 

He  hoisted  out  of  the  water  the  dead  dog-fish,  which  was 
about  four  feet  long,  and  then  sliook  it  back. 

"  Here,  Ogilvic,"  said  lie,  "  take  the  boat  -  hook.  There  arc 
plenty  about  here.  Make  yourself  St.  Patrick  exterminating 
snakes." 

Ogilvie  tried  the  dog-fish  spearing  with  more  or  less  success ; 
but  it  was  the  means  of  procuring  for  him  a  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. As  they  went  quietly  over  the  sea-weed — the  keel  of  the 
boat  hissing  through  it  and  occasionally  grating  on  the  sand — 
they  perceived  that  the  water  was  getting  a  bit  deeper,  and  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  strike  the  boat-hook  straight.  At  this 
moment,  Ogilvie,  happening  to  cast  a  glance  along  the  rocks  close 
by  them,  started  and  seized  Macleod's  arm.  What  the  fright- 
ened eyes  of  the  younger  man  seemed  to  see  was  a  great  white 
and  gray  object  lying  on  the  rocks,  and  staring  at  him  with  huge 
black  eyes.  At  first  it  almost  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  man  with 
a  grizzled  and  hairy  face ;  then  he  tried  to  think  of  some  Avhite 
beast  with  big  black  eyes ;  then  he  knew.  For  the  next  second 
there  was  an  unwieldy  roll  down  the  rocks,  and  then  a  heavy 
splash  in  the  water;  and  the  huge  gray  seal  had  disappeared. 
And  there  he  stood  helpless,  with  the  boat-hook  in  his  hand. 

"  It  is  my  usual  luck,"  said  he,  in  despair.  "  If  I  had  had  my 
rifle  in  my  hand,  we  should  never  have  got  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  beast.  But  I  got  an  awful  fright.  I  never  before 
saw  a  live  seal  just  in  front  of  one's  nose  like  that." 

"  You  would  have  missed  him,"  said  Macleod,  coolly. 

"At  a  dozen  yards?" 

"Yes.  When  you  come  on  one  so  near  as  that,  you  are  too 
startled  to  take  aim.     You  would  have  blazed  away  and  missed." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Ogilvic,  with  some  modest  persistence. 
"  When  I  shot  that  stag,  I  was  steady  enough,  though  I  felt  my 
heart  thumping  away  like  fun." 

"There  you  had  plenty  of  time  to  take  your  aim — and  a  rock 
to  rest  your  rifle  on."  And  then  he  added :  "  You  would  have 
broken  Ilamish's  heart,  Ogilvie,  if  you  had  missed  that  stag. 
He  was  quite  determined  you  should  have  one  on  your  first  day 
out ;  and  I  never  saw  him  take  such  elaborate  precautions  before. 
I  suppose  it  was  terribly  tedious  to  you  ;  but  you  may  depend 


142  MACLKOU    OF    ilAUE. 

on  it  it  was  neccssarv.     There  isn't  one  of  the  yonn2;ei'  men  can 
match  Ilamish,  thonn'h  hu  was  bred  a  sailor." 

"  Well,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  admitted,  "  I  began  to  think  we  were  hav- 
ing a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  nothing;  especially  Avhen  it 
seemed  as  though  the  Avind  were  blowing  half  a  dozen  ways  in 
the  one  valley." 

"  Why,  man,"  Macleod  said,  "  Ilamish  knows  every  one  of 
those  eddies  just  as  if  they  were  all  down  on  a  chart.  And  he  is 
very  determined,  too,  you  shall  have  another  stag  before  yon  go, 
Ogilvie ;  for  it  is  not  much  amusement  we  have  been  giving  you 
since  you  came  to  us." 

"  That  is  why  I  feci  so  particularly  jolly  at  the  notion  of  hav- 
ing to  go  back,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  with  very  much  the  air  of  a 
school-boy  at  the  end  of  his  holiday.  "  The  day  after  to-mor- 
rov/,  too !" 

"  To-morrow,  then,  v/e  v.ill  try  to  get  a  stag  for  you ;  and  the 
day  after  you  can  spend  what  time  you  can  at  the  pools  in  Glen 
Muick." 

These  last  two  days  were  right  royal  days  for  the  guest  at  Cas- 
tle Dare.  On  the  deer-stalking  expedition  Macleod  simply  refused 
to  take  his  rifle  with  him,  and  spent  all  his  time  in  whispered 
consultations  with  Ilamish,  and  with  eager  watching  of  every  bird 
whose  solitary  flight  along  the  mountain-side  might  startle  the 
wary  hinds.  After  a  long  day  of  patient  and  stealthy  creeping, 
and  walking  thorough  bogs  and  streams,  and  slow  toiling  up  rocky 
slopes,  the  party  returned  home  in  the  evening ;  and  when  it  was 
found  that  a  splendid  stag — with  brow,  bay,  and  tray,  and  crock- 
ets complete — was  strapped  on  to  the  pony,  and  when  the  Avord 
was  passed  that  Sandy  the  red-haired  and  John  from  the  yacht 
were  to  take  back  the  pony  to  a  certain  well-known  cairn  where 
another  monarch  of  the  hills  lay  slain,  there  was  a  great  rejoicing 
through  Castle  Dare,  and  Lady  Macleod  herself  must  needs  come 
out  to  shake  liands  with  her  guest,  and  to  congratulate  him  on  his 
good  fortune. 

"  It  is  little  we  have  been  able  to  do  to  entertain  you,"  said  the 
old  silver-haired  lady,  "but  T  am  glad  you  have  got  a  stag  or 
two." 

"  I  knew  what  Highland  hospitality  was  before  I  came  to  Cas- 
tle Dare,"  said  the  boy,  modestly.  "  But  you  have  been  kinder 
to  mo  even  than  anything  I  knew  before." 


"fiiik  a  biiata  !"  143 

"And  you  will  leave  the  heads  with  Ilaniish,"  said  she,  "'and 
we  will  send  them  to  Glasgow  to  be  mounted  for  you,  and  Ihen 
we  will  send  them  South  to  you." 

"Indeed  no,"  said  he  (though  he  was  thinking  to  himself  tliat 
it  was  no  wonder  the  Macleods  of  Dare  were  poor) ;  "  I  will  not 
put  you  to  any  such  trouble.  I  will  make  my  own  arrangements 
with  Ilamish." 

"  Then  you  will  tell  him  not  to  forget  Aldershot." 

"  I  think,  Lady  Maclcod,"  said  the  young  lieutenant,  "  that  my 
mess-companions  v.ill  be  sorry  to  hear  that  I  have  left  Dare.  I 
should  think  they  ought  to  have  drunk  your  health  many  times 
ore  now." 

Next  dav,  moreover,  he  was  equally  successful  by  the  side  of 
the  deep  brown  pools  in  Glen  Muick.  lie  was  a  pretty  fair  fish- 
erman, though  he  liad  had  but  small  experience  with  such  a 
mighty  engine  of  a  rod  as  Ilamish  put  into  his  hands.  When, 
however,  he  showed  Hamish  the  fine  assortment  of  salmon  flies 
he  had  brought  with  him,  the  old  man  only  shook  his  head. 
Thereafter,  whenever  Ilamish  went  with  him,  nothing  was, said 
about  flies  until  they  neared  the  side  of  the  brawling  stream  that 
came  pouring  down  between  the  gray  rocks  and  the  patches  of 
moist  brown  moor.  Ilamish  would  sit  down  on  a  stone,  and  take 
out  a  tin  box  and  open  it.  Then  he  would  take  a  quick  look 
round — at  the  aspect  of  the  clouds,  the  direction  of  the  wind,  and 
so  forth  ;  and  then,  with  a  nimbleness  that  any  one  looking  at 
his  rough  hands  and  broad  thumbs  would  have  considered  impos- 
sible, would  busk  up  a  weapon  of  capture  that  soon  showed  itself 
to  be  deadly  enough.  And  on  this  last  day  of  Ogilvie's  stay  at 
Castle  Dare  he  was  unusually  lucky — though  of  course  there  were 
one  or  two  heart-rending  mishaps.  As  they  walked  home  in  the 
evening — the  lowering  day  liad  cleared  away  into  a  warm  sunset, 
and  they  could  see  Colonsay,  and  Fladda,  and  the  Dutchman's 
Cap,  lying  dark  and  purple  on  a  golden  sea — Ogilvie  said : 

"  Look  here,  Macleod,  if  you  would  like  me  to  take  one  of 
these  salmon  for  Miss  White,  I  could  take  it  as  part  of  my  lug- 
gage, and  have  it  delivered  at  once." 

"  That  would  be  no  use,"  said  he,  rather  gloomily.  "  She  is 
not  in  London.  She  is  at  Liverpool  or  Manchester  by  this  time. 
I  liavc  already  sent  her  a  present." 

Ogilvie  di(.l  not  think  fit  to  ask  what;  though  he  had  guessed. 


144  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  It  was  a  parcel  of  otter-skins,"  ]\Iacleod  said.  "  You  sec,  you 
iniglit  present  that  to  any  lady- — it  is  merely  a  curiosity  of  the 
district — it  is  no  more  than  if  an  acquaintance  were  to  give  me  a 
chip  of  quartz  he  liad  brought  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  with  ?- 
few  grains  of  copper  or  silver  in  it." 

"  It  is  a  present  any  lady  would  be  glad  to  have,"  observed  Mr. 
Ogilvie,  with  a  smile.     "  lias  she  got  them  yet  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  Macleod  answered,  "Perhaps  there  is  not 
time  for  an  answer.  Perhaps  she  has  forgotten  who  I  am,  and  is 
affronted  at  a  stranger  sending  her  a  present." 

"  Forgotten  who  you  are !"  Ogilvie  exclaimed ;  and  then  he 
looked  round  to  see  that  Ilainish  and  Sandy  the  red-haired  were 
at  a  convenient  distance.  "  Do  you  know  this,  Macleod  ?  A 
man  never  yet  was  in  love  with  a  woman  without  the  woman  be- 
ing instantly  aware  of  it." 

Macleod  glanced  at  him  quickly  ;  then  turned  away  his  head 
again,  apparently  watching  the  gulls  wheeling  high  over  the  sea — 
black  spots  against  the  glow  of  the  sunset. 

"  That  is  foolishness,"  said  he.  "  I  had  a  great  care  to  be 
quite  a  stranger  to  her  all  the  time  I  was  in  London.  I  myself 
scarcely  knew — how  could  she  know?  Sometimes  I  thought  I 
was  rude  to  her,  so  that  I  should  deceive  myself  into  believing 
she  was  only  a  stranger." 

Then  he  remembered  one  fact,  and  his  downright  honesty  made 
liim  speak  again. 

"One  niglit, it  is  true,"  said  he — "it  was  the  last  night  of  my 
being  in  London  —  I  asked  a  flower  from  her.  She  gave  it  to 
me.     She  was  laughing  at  the  time.     That  was  all." 

The  sunset  had  gone  away,  and  the  clear  northern  twilight 
was  fading  too,  when  young  Ogilvie,  having  bade  good  -  bye  to 
Lady  Macleod  and  her  niece  Janet,  got  into  the  broad-beamed 
boat  of  the  fishermen,  accompanied  by  his  friend.  There  was 
something  of  a  breeze,  and  they  hoisted  a  lug-sail  so  that  they 
should  run  out  to  meet  the  steamer.  Donald  the  piper  lad  was 
not  with  them ;  Macleod  wanted  to  speak  to  his  friend  Ogilvie  as 
he  was  leaving. 

And  yet  he  did  not  say  anything  of  importance.  He  seemed 
to  be  chiefly  interested  in  finding  out  whether  Ogilvie  could  not 
get  a  few  days'  leave,  about  Christmas,  that  he  might  come  up 
and  try  the  winter  shooting.     lie  was  giving  minute  particulars 


"FHIR    a    BlIATA  !"  145 

about  the  use  of  arsenic  paste  when  the  box  of  sTcins  to  bo  de- 
spatched by  Ilamish  reached  London ;  and  he  was  discussing 
what  sort  of  mounting  should  be  put  on  a  strange  old  bottle  that 
Janet  Macleod  had  presented  to  the  departing  guest.  There  was 
no  word  of  that  which  lay  nearest  his  heart. 

And  so  the  black  waves  rolled  by  them ;  and  the  light  at  the 
horizon  began  to  fade ;  and  the  stars  were  coming  out  one  by 
one;  while  the  two  sailors  forward  (for  Macleod  was  steering) 
were  singing  to  themselves : 

"  Fhir  a  hhata  (na  horo  cilc) 
Fhir  a  hhata  {na  horo  elk) 
Fhir  a  bhatu  {na  horo  cilc) 
Chcad soire  slann  hid gc  thohh  a  thcid  tiJ" 

that  is  to  say, 

"  0  Boatman, 
And  Boatman, 
And  Boatman, 
A  hundred  farewells  to  you  wherever  you  may  go !" 

And  then  the  lug-sail  was  hauled  down,  and  they  lay  on  the 
lapping  water ;  and  they  could  hear  all  around  them  the  soft  call- 
ings of  the  guillemots  and  razor-bills,  and  other  divers  whose 
home  is  the  heaving  wave.  And  then  the  great  steamer  came  up 
and  slowed ;  and  the  boat  was  hauled  alongside,  and  young  Ogil- 
vie  sprang  up  the  slippery  steps. 

"  Good-bye,  Macleod !" 

"  Good-bye,  Ogilvie  !     Come  up  at  Christmas." 

The  great  bulk  of  the  steamer  soon  floated  away,  and  the  lug- 
sail  was  ran  up  again,  and  the  boat  made  slowly  back  for  Castle 
Dare.  "Fhir  a  bhata !"  the  men  sung;  but  Macleod  scarcely 
heard  them.     His  last  tie  with  the  South  had  been  broken. 

But  not  quite.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  that  night  that  word 
came  to  Castle  Dare  that  Dugald  the  Post  had  met  with  an  ac- 
cident that  morning  while  starting  from  Bunessan ;  and  that  his 
place  had  been  taken  by  a  young  lad  who  had  but  now  arrived 
with  the  bag.  Macleod  hastily  looked  over  the  bundle  of  news- 
papers, etc.,  they  brought  him,  and  his  eager  eye  fell  on  an  en- 
velope, the  writing  on  which  made  his  heart  jump. 

"  Give  the  lad  a  half-crown,"  said  he. 

And  then  be  went  to  his  own  room.     lie  had  the  letter  in  liis 

1 


1-lG  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

hand ;  and  he  knew  the  handwriting ;  but  there  was  no  wind  of 

the  night  that  could  bring  him  tlie  mystic  message  she  had  sent 

with  it : 

"  Oh,  lierc  is,  Glenogie,  a  letter  for  i/iee  /" 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

CONFIDENX'ES, 

For  a  second  or  two  he  held  the  letter  in  his  liand,  regarding 
the  outside  of  it;  and  it  was  •with  more  deliberation  than  haste 
that  he  opened  it.  Perhaps  it  was  with  some  little  tremor  of 
fear — lest  the  first  words  that  should  meet  his  eye  might  be  cru- 
elly cold  and  distant.  What  right  had  he  to  expect  anything 
else  ?  Many  a  time,  in  thinking  carefully  over  the  past,  he  had 
recalled  the  words — the  very  tone — in  which  he  had  addressed 
her,  and  had  been  dismayed  to  think  of  their  reserve,  which  had 
on  one  or  two  occasions  almost  amounted  to  austerity.  He  could 
expect  little  beyond  a  formal  acknowledgment  of  the  receiving  of 
his  letter,  and  the  present  that  had  accompanied  it. 

Imagine,  then,  his  surprise  when  he  took  out  from  the  en- 
velope a  number  of  sheets  closely  written  over  in  her  beautiful, 
small,  neat  hand.  Hastily  his  eye  ran  over  the  first  few  lines ; 
and  then  surprise  gave  way  to  a  singular  feeling  of  gratitude  and 
joy.  Y/as  it  indeed  she  who  was  writing  to  him  thus?  "When 
he  had  been  thinking  of  her  as  some  one  far  away  and  unap- 
proachable—  who  could  have  no  thought  of  him  or  of  the  too 
brief  time  in  which  he  had  been  near  to  her — had  she  indeed 
been  treasuring  up  some  recollection  that  she  now  seemed  dis- 
posed to  value  ? 

"You  will  guess  that  I  am  ^Yoman  enough,"  she  wrote,  "to  be 
greatly  pleased  and  flattered  by  your  sending  me  such  a  beautiful 
present ;  but  you  must  believe  me  when  I  say  that  its  chief  value 
to  me  was  its  showing  me  that  I  had  another  friend  in  the  world 
who  was  not  disposed  to  forget  me  the  next  day  after  bidding 
me  good-bye.  Perhaps  you  will  say  that  I  am  cynical ;  but  ac- 
tresses are  accustomed  to  find  the  friendships  they  make — outside 
the  sphere  of  their  own  profession  —  of  a  singularly  temporary 
character.     Wc  arc  praised  and  flattered  to-day,  and  forgotten 


CONFIDENCES.  147 

to-morrow,  I  don't  complain.  It  is  only  natural.  People  go 
away  to  their  own  families  and  home  occupations:  why  should 
they  remember  a  person  who  has  amused  them  for  an  hour  ?" 

Miss  Gertrude  AVhite  could,  when  she  chose,  write  a  clever  and 
interesting  letter — interesting  from  its  very  simplicity  and  frank- 
ness ;  and  as  Macleod  read  on  and  on,  he  ceased  to  feel  any  won- 
der that  this  young  lady  should  be  placing  before  him  such  am- 
ple revelations  of  her  experiences  and  opinions.  Indeed,  it  v/as 
more  than  suggested  in  this  confidential  chat  that  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod himself  had  been  the  first  cause  of  her  having  carefully  stud- 
ied her  own  position,  and  the  influence  likely  to  be  exerted  on 
licr  by  her  present  mode  of  life. 

"  One  meets  with  the  harsher  realities  of  an  actress's  life,"  she 
said,  "in  the  provinces.  It  is  all  very  fine  in  London,  when  all  the 
friends  you  happen  to  have  are  in  town,  and  where  there  is  con- 
stant amusement,  and  pleasant  parties,  and  nice  people  to  meet ; 
and  then  you  have  the  comforts  of  your  own  home  around  you, 
and  quiet  and  happy  Sundays.  But  a  provincial  tour ! — the  con- 
stant travelling,  and  rehearsals  ^^ith  strange  people,  and  damp 
lodgings,  and  miserable  hotels,  and  wet  Sundays  in  smoky  towns ! 
Papa  is  very  good  and  kind,  you  know  ;  but  he  is  interested  in 
his  books,  and  he  goes  about  all  day  hunting  after  curiosities, 
and  one  has  not  a  soul  to  speak  to.  Then  the  audiences :  I  have 
witnessed  one  or  two  scenes  lately  that  would  unnerve  any  one ; 
and  of  course  I  have  to  stand  helpless  and  silent  on  the  stage 
until  the  tumult  is  stilled  and  the  original  offenders  expelled. 
Some  sailors  the  other  evening  amused  themselves  by  clambering 
down  from  the  top  gallery  to  the  pit,  hanging  on  to  the  gas- 
brackets and  tlic  pillars ;  and  one  of  them  managed  to  reach  the 
orchestra,  jump  from  the  drum  on  to  the  stage,  and  then  offered 
me  a  glass  of  whiskey  from  a  big  black  bottle  he  had  in  his 
hand.  When  I  told  papa,  he  laughed,  and  said  I  should  be 
proud  of  my  triumph  over  the  man's  imagination.  But  when 
the  people  roared  v/ith  laughter  at  my  discomfiture,  I  felt  as 
though  I  would  rather  be  earning  my  bread  by  selling  water- 
cresses  in  the  street  or  by  stitching  in  a  garret." 

Of  course  the  cry  of  the  poor  injured  soul  found  a  ready  echo 
in  his  heart.  It  was  monstrous  tliat  she  should  be  subjected  to 
such  indignities.  And  then  that  cruel  old  pagan  of  a  father — 
was  lie  not  ashamed  of  himself  to  see  the  results  of  his  own  cold- 


148  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 

blooded  theories  ?  Was  this  the  glory  of  art  ?  Was  tliis  tLe  re- 
ward of  the  sacrifice  of  a  life?  That  a  sensitive  girl  should  be 
publicly  insulted  by  a  tipsy  maniac,  and  jeered  at  by  a  brutal 
crowd  ?  Maclcod  laid  down  the  letter  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
the  look  on  his  face  was  not  lovely  to  sec. 

"  You  may  think  it  strange  that  I  ehould  write  thus  to  yon," 
she  said;  "but  if  I  say  that  it  was  yourself  who  first  set  me  think- 
ing about  such  things?  And  since  I  have  been  thinking  about 
them  I  have  had  no  human  being  near  me  to  whom  I  could 
speak.  You  know  papa's  opinions.  Even  if  my  dearest  friend, 
Mrs.  Ross,  were  here,  what  would  she  say  ?  She  has  known  me 
only  in  London.  She  thinks  it  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  popular  ac- 
tress. She  sees  people  ready  to  pet  me,  in  a  way — so  long  as 
society  is  pleased  to  have  a  little  curiosity  about  me.  But  she 
does  not  see  the  other  side  of  the  picture.  She  does  not  even 
ask  hov/  long  all  this  will  last.  She  never  thinks  of  the  cares 
and  troubles  and  downright  hard  work.  If  ever  you  heard  me' 
sing,  you  will  know  that  I  have  very  little  of  a  voice,  and  that 
not  worth  much ;  but  trifling  as  it  is,  you  would  scarcely  believe 
the  care  and  cultivation  I  have  to  spend  on  it,  merely  for  business 
purposes.  Mrs.  Ross,  no  doubt,  sees  that  it  is  pleasant  enough 
for  a  young  actress,  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  have  won  some 
public  favor,  to  go  sailing  in  a  yacht  on  the  Thames,  on  a  sum- 
mer day,  Avith  nice  companions  around  her.  She  does  not  see 
her  on  a  wet  day  in  Newcastle,  practicing  scales  for  an  hour  at  a 
stretch,  though  her  throat  is  half  choked  with  the  fog,  in  a  dis- 
mal parlor  with  a  piano  out  of  tune,  and  with  the  prospect  of 
having  to  go  out  through  the  wet  to  a  rehearsal  in  a  damp  and 
draughty  theatre,  with  escaped  gas  added  to  the  fog.  That  is 
very  nice,  isn't  it  ?" 

It  almost  seemed  to  him — so  intense  and  eager  was  his  invol- 
untary sympathy — as  though  he  himself  were  breathing  fog,  and 
gas,  and  the  foul  odors  of  an  empty  theatre.  He  went  to  tlie 
window  and  threw  it  open,  and  sat  down  there.  The  stars  were 
no  longer  quivering  white  on  the  black  surface  of  the  water,  for 
the  moon  had  risen  now  in  the  south,  and  there  was  a  soft  glow 
all  shining  over  the  smooth  Atlantic.  Sharp  and  white  Avas  the 
light  on  the  stone -walls  of  Castle  Dare,  and  on  the  gravelled 
path,  and  the  rocks  and  the  trees  around ;  but  far  away  it  was  a 
milder  radiance  that  lay  over  the  sea,  and  touched  here  and  there 


CASTLK    DAUE. 


CONFIDENCES.  149 

tlic  sliores  of  Incli  Kenneth  and  Ulva  and  Colonsay.  It  was  a 
fair  and  peaceful  night,  with  no  sound  of  human  unrest  to  break 
the  sleep  of  the  world.  Sleep,  solemn  and  profound,  dwelt  over 
the  lonely  islands — over  Statfa,  with  her  resounding  caves,  and 
Fladda,  with  her  desolate  rocks,  and  lona,  with  her  fairy-white 
sands,  and  the  distant  Dutchman,  and  Coll,  and  Tirce,  all  liaunted 
by  the  wild  sea-birds'  cry ;  and  a  sleep  as  deep  dwelt  over  the 
silent  hills,  far  np  under  the  cold  light  of  the  skies.  Surely,  if 
any  poor  sutlering  heart  was  vexed  by  the  contentions  of  crowded 
cities,  here,  if  anywhere  in  the  world,  might  rest  and  peace  and 
loving  solace  be  found,  lie  sat  dreaming  there;  he  had  half 
forgotten  the  letter. 

He  roused  himself  from  his  reverie,  and  returned  to  the  light. 

"And  yet  I  would  not  complain  of  mere  discomfort,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  if  that  were  all.  People  who  have  to  work  for  their 
living  must  not  be  too  particular.  What  pains  me  most  of  all  is 
the  effect  that  this  sort  of  work  is  having  on  myself.  You  would 
not  believe — and  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  confess — how  I  am 
worried  by  small  and  mean  jealousies  and  anxieties,  and  how  I 
am  tortured  by  the  expression  of  opinions  which,  all  the  same,  I 
hold  in  contempt.  I  reason  with  myself  to  no  purpose.  It 
ought  to  be  no  concern  of  mine  if  some  girl  in  a  burlesque 
makes  the  house  roar,  by  the  manner  in  which  she  walks  up  and 
down  the  stage  smoking  a  cigar ;  and  yet  I  feel  angry  at  the  au- 
dience for  applauding  such  stuff,  and  I  wince  when  I  see  her 
praised  in  the  papers.  Oh  !  these  papers !  I  have  been  making 
minute  inquiries  of  late ;  and  I  find  that  the  usual  way  in  these 
towns  is  to  let  the  young  literary  aspirant  who  has  just  joined 
the  office,  or  the  clever  compositor  who  has  been  promoted  to 
the  sub-editor's  room,  try  his  hand  first  of  all  at  reviewing  books, 
and  then  turn  him  on  to  dramatic  and  musical  criticism !  Occa- 
sionally a  reporter,  who  has  been  round  the  police  courts  to  get 
notes  of  the  night  charges,  will  drop  into  the  theatre  on  his  way 
to  the  office,  and  '  do  a  par.,'  as  they  call  it.  Will  you  believe  it 
[)ossible  that  the  things  written  of  me  by  these  persons — with 
their  pretentious  airs  of  criticism,  and  their  gross  ignorance  crop- 
ping up  at  every  point — have  the  power  to  vex  and  annoy  me 
most  terribly?  I  laugh  at  the  time,  but  the  phrase  rankles  in 
my  memory  all  the  same.  One  learned  young  man  said  of  me 
the  other  day:  '  It  is  really  distressing  to  mark  the  want  of  unity 


150  MACl.EOU    OF    DARK. 

in  her  artistic  cliaractcrizations  when  one  regards  the  natural  ad- 
vantages tliat  nature  has  heaped  ii])ui)  lier  with  no  sparing  hand.' 
The  natural  advantages  that  nature  has  heaped  upon  me!  'And 
perhaps,  also,'  he  went  on  to  say,  '  Miss  White  would  do  well  to 
pay  some  little  nioro  attention  before  venturing  on  pronouncing 
the  classic  names  of  Greece.  Iphigenia  herself  would  not  have 
answered  to  her  nan:ic  if  she  had  heard  it  pronounced  with  the 
accent  on  the  fourth  syllable.' " 

Macleod  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a  bang. 

"  If  I  had  that  fellow,"  said  he,  aloud — "  if  I  had  that  fellow, 
I  should  like  to  spin  for  a  shark  of?  Dubh  Artach  light-house." 
And  here  a  most  unholy  vision  rose  before  him  of  a  new  sort  of 
snort — a  sailing  launch  gointi;  about  six  knots  an  hour,  a  fjoodlv 
rope  at  the  stern  with  a  huge  hook  through  the  gill  of  the  lack- 
less  critic,  a  swivel  to  make  him  spin,  and  then  a  few  smart  ti'ips 
up  and  down  by  the  side  of  the  lonely  Duhh  Artach  rocks,  Avhere 
Mr.  Ewing  and  I'.is  companions  occasionally  find  a  few  sharks 
coming  up  to  the  surface  to  stare  at  them. 

"  Is  it  not  too  ridiculous  that  such  things  should  vex  ine — that 
I  should  be  so  absolutely  at  the  mercy  of  the  opinion  of  people 
whose  judgment  I  know  to  be  absolutely  valueless?  I  find  the 
same  thing  all  around  me.  I  find  a  middle-aged  man,  who  knows 
his  work  thoroughly,  and  has  seen  all  the  best  actors  of  the  past 
quarter  of  a  century,  will  go  about  quite  proudly  with  a  scrap  of 
approval  from  some  newspaper,  written  by  a  young  man  who  has 
never  travelled  beyond  the  suburbs  of  his  native  town,  and  has 
seen  no  acting  beyond  that  of  the  local  company.  But  there  is 
another  sort  of  critic — the  veteran,  the  man  who  has  worked  haixl 
on  the  paper  and  worn  himself  out,  and  who  is  turned  off  frojn 
politics,  and  pensioned  by  being  allowed  to  display  his  imbecility 
in  less  important  matters.  Oh  dear!  what  lessons  he  reads  you  ! 
The  solemnity  of  them  !  Don't  you  know  that  at  the  end  of  the 
second  act  tlie  business  of  Mrs.  So-and-So  (some  actress  who  died 
when  George  IV.  was  king)  was  this,  that,  or  the  other? — and 
how  dare  you,  you  impertinent  minx,  fly  in  the  face  of  well-known 
stage  traditions?  I  have  been  introduced  lately  to  a  specimen  of 
both  classes.  I  think  the  young  man — he  had  beautiful  long 
fair  hair  and  a  Byronic  collar,  and  was  a  little  nervous — fell  in 
love  with  me,  for  he  wrote  a  furious  panegyric  of  mc,  and  sent  it 
next  morning  with  a  bouquet,  and  begged  for  my  photograph. 


CONFIDENCES,  151 

The  elderly  gentleman,  on  tlie  other  hand,  gave  me  a  great  deal 
of  good  advice ;  but  I  subdued  even  liim,  for  before  he  went 
away  he  spoke  in  a  broken  voice,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes, 
which  papa  said  were  owing  to  a  variety  of  causes.  It  is  ludi- 
crous enough,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  also  a  little  bit  humiliating.  I 
try  to  laugh  the  thing  away,  whether  the  opinion  expressed  about 
me  is  solemnly  stupid  or  merely  impertinent,  but  the  vexation  of 
it  remains ;  and  the  chief  vexation  to  me  is  that  I  should  have"  so 
little  command  of  myself,  so  little  respect  for  myself,  as  to  suffer 
myself  to  be  vexed.  But  how  can  one  help  it  ?  Public  opinion 
is  the  very  breath  and  life  of  a  theatre  and  of  every  one  connect- 
ed with  it ;  and  you  come  to  attach  importance  to  the  most  fool- 
ish expression  of  opinion  in  the  most  obscure  print. 

"And  so,  my  dear  friend,  I  have  had  my  grumble  out — and 
made  my  confession  too,  for  I  should  not  like  to  let  every  one 
know  how  foolish  I  am  about  those  petty  vexations — and  you 
will  see  that  I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  said  to  me,  find  that 
further  reflection  and  experience  have  only  confirmed  it.  But  I 
must  warn  you.  Now  that  I  have  victimized  you  to  this  fearful 
extent,  and  liberated  my  mind,  I  feel  much  more  comfortable. 
As  I  write,  there  is  a  blue  color  coming  into  the  windows  that 
tells  me  the  ncw^  day  is  coming.  Would  it  surprise  you  if  the 
new  day  brought  a  complete  new  set  of  feelings  ?  I  have  begun 
to  doubt  whether  I  have  got  any  opinions — whether,  having  to 
be  so  many  different  people  in  the  course  of  a  week,  I  have  any 
clear  notion  as  to  what  I  myself  am.  One  thing  is  certain,  that 
I  have  been  greatly  vexed  and  worried  of  late  by  a  succession  of 
the  merest  trifles ;  and  when  I  got  your  kind  letter  and  present 
this  evening,  I  suddenly  thought.  Now  for  a  complete  confession 
and  protest.  I  know  you  will  forgive  me  for  having  victimized 
you,  and  that  as  soon  as  you  have  thrown  this  rambling  epistle 
into  the  fire  yon  will  try  to  forget  all  the  nonsense  it  contains, 
and  will  believe  that  I  hope  always  to  remain  your  friend, 

"  Gertrude  White." 

His  quick  and  warm  sympathy  refused  to  believe  the  half  of 
tins  letter.  It  was  only  because  she  knew  what  was  owing  to  the 
honor  and  self-respect  of  a  true  woman  that  she  spoke  in  this 
tone  of  bitter  and  scornful  depreciation  of  herself.  It  was  clear 
that  she  was  longing  for  the  dignity  and  independence  of  a  more 


162  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

natural  way  of  life.  And  this  revelation — that  she  was  not,  after 
all,  banished  forever  into  tliat  cold  region  of  art  in  which  lier  fa- 
ther would  fain  keep  her  —  somewhat  bewildered  him  at  lirst. 
The  victim  might  be  reclaimed  from  the  altar  and  restored  to  the 
sphere  of  simple  human  affections,  natural  duties,  and  joy  ?  And 
if  lie- 
Suddenly,  and  with  a  shock  of  delight  that  made  his  heart 
thi'ob,  he  tried  to  picture  this  beautiful  fair  creature  sitting  over 
there  in  that  very  chair  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  her  head  bent 
down  over  her  sewing,  the  warm  light  of  the  lamp  touching  the 
tender  curve  of  her  cheek.  And  when  she  lifted  her  head  to 
speak  to  him — and  when  her  large  and  lambent  eyes  met  his — 
surely  Fionaghal,  the  fair  poetess  from  strange  lands,  never  spoke 
in  softer  tones  than  this  other  beautiful  stranger,  who  was  now 
his  wife  and  his  heart's  companion.  And  now  he  would  bid  her 
lay  aside  her  work,  and  he  would  get  a  white  shawl  for  her,  and 
like  a  o-host  she  would  steal  out  with  him  into  the  moonlight  air. 
And  is  there  enouixh  wind  on  this  summer  night  to  take  them 
out  from  the  sombre  shore  to  the  open  plain  of  the  sea  ?  Look 
now,  as  the  land  recedes,  at  the  high  walls  of  Castle  Dare,  over 
the  black  cliffs,  and  against  the  stars.  Far  away  they  sec  the 
graveyard  of  Inch  Kenneth,  the  stones  pale  in  the  moonlight. 
And  what  song  will  she  sing  now,  that  Ulva  and  Colonsay  may 
awake  and  fancy  that  some  mermaiden  is  singing  to  bewail  her 
lost  lover?  The  night  is  sad,  and  the  song  is  sad;  and  then, 
somehow,  he  finds  himself  alone  in  this  waste  of  water,  and  all 
the  shores  of  the  islands  are  silent  and  devoid  of  life,  and  there 
is  only  the  echo  of  the  sad  singing  in  his  cars — 

He  jumps  to  his  feet,  for  there  is  a  knocking  at  the  door.  The 
gentle  Cousin  Janet  enters,  and  hastily  he  thrusts  that  letter  into 
his  pocket,  while  his  face  blushes  hotly. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Keith  ?"  she  says,  in  her  quiet,  kindly 
way.     "Auntie  would  like  to  say  good-night  to  you  now." 
"  I  will  come  directly,"  said  he. 

"And  now  that  Norman  Ogilvie  is  away,  Keith,"  said  she,  "you 
■will  take  more  rest  about  the  shooting;  for  you  have  not  been 
looking  like  yourself  at  all  lately ;  and  you  know,  Keith,  when 
you  are  not  well  and  happy,  it  is  no  one  at  all  about  Dare  that 
is  happy  cither.  And  that  is  why  you  will  take  oare  of  your- 
self." 


A    UESOLVE.  153 

lie  glanced  at  her  ratlicr  uneasily  ;  but  he  said,  in  a  light  and 
careless  way, 

"Oh,  I  have  been  well  enough,  Jauct,  except  that  I  was  not 
sleeping  well  one  or  two  nights.  And  if  you  look  after  nie  like 
that,  you  will  make  me  think  I  am  a  baby,  and  you  will  send  me 
some  warm  flannels  when  I  go  up  on  the  hills." 

"  It  is  too  proud  of  your  hardihood  you  are,  Keith,"  said  his 
cousin,  with  a  smile.  "  But  there  never  was  a  man  of  your  fam- 
ily who  would  take  any  advice." 

"  I  would  take  any  advice  from  you,  Janet,"  said  he  ;  and 
therewith  he  followed  her  to  bid  good-night  to  the  silver-haired 
mother. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    RESOLVE. 

He  slept  but  little  that  night,  and  early  the  next  morning  he 
was  up  and  out  and  away  by  himself — pJiying  but  little  heed  to 
the  rushing  blue  seas,  and  the  white  gulls,  and  the  sunshine  touch- 
injT  the  far  sands  on  the  shores  of  lona.  He  was  in  a  fever  of 
unrest.  He  knew  not  what  to  make  of  that  letter;  it  might 
mean  anything  or  nothing.  Alternations  of  wild  hopes  and  cold 
despair  succeeded  each  other.  Surely  it  was  unusual  for  a  girl 
so  to  reveal  her  innermost  confidences  to  any  one  whom  she  con- 
sidered a  stranger  ?  To  him  alone  had  she  told  this  story  of  her 
private  troubles.  Was  it  not  in  effect  asking  for  a  sympathy 
which  she  could  not  hope  for  from  any  other?  Was  it  not  es- 
tablishing a  certain  secret  between  them  ?  Her  own  father  did 
not  know.  Her  sister  was  too  young  to  be  told.  Friends  like 
Mrs.  Ross  could  not  understand  why  this  young  and  beautiful 
actress,  the  favorite  of  the  public,  could  be  dissatisfied  wdth  her 
lot.     It  was  to  him  alone  she  had  appealed. 

And  then  again  he  read  the  letter.  The  very  frankness  of  it 
made  him  fear.  There  was  none  of  the  shyness  of  a  girl  writing 
to  one  who  micfht  be  her  lover.  She  mig-ht  have  written  thus  to 
one  of  her  school-companions.  He  eagerly  searched  it  for  some 
phrase  of  tenderer  meaning ;  but  no — there  was  a  careless  aban- 
donment about  it,  as  if  she  had  been  talking  without  thinking  of 
the  person  she  addressed.     She  had  even  joked  about  a  young 

1* 


154  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

man  falling  in  love  v.-itli  her.  It  was  a  matter  of  perfect  indif- 
ference to  licr.  It  Avas  ludicrous  as  the  S!KI[)C  of  the  lad's  collar 
was  ludicrous,  but  of  no  more  importance.  And  thus  she  receded 
from  his  imagination  again,  and  became  a  thing  apart — the  white 
slave  bound  in  those  cruel  chains  that  seemed  to  all  but  herself 
and  him  the  badges  of  triumph. 

Herself  and  him  —  the  conjunction  set  his  heart  throbbing 
(juickly.  He  eagerly  bethought  himself  how  this  secret  under- 
standing could  be  strengthened,  if  only  he  might  see  her  and 
speak  to  her.  He  could  tell  by  her  eyes  what  she  meant,  what- 
ever her  words  might  be.  If  only  he  could  see  her  again:  all  his 
wild  hopes,  and  fears,  and  doubts — all  his  vague  fancies  and  im- 
aginings— began  to  narrow  themselves  down  to  this  one  point; 
and  this  immediate  desire  became  all-consuminn-.  He  m-ew  sick  at 
heart  when  he  looked  round  and  considered  how  vain  was  the  wish. 

The  gladness  had  gone  from  the  face  of  Keith  I^Iaclcod.  Not 
many  months  before,  any  one  would  have  imagined  that  the  life 
of  this  handsome  young  fellow,  whose  strength,  and  courage,  and 
high  spirits  seemed  to  render  him  insensible  to  any  obstacle,  had 
everything  in  it  that  the  mind  of  man  could  desire.  He  had  a 
hundred  interests  and  activities ;  he  had  youth  and  health,  and  a 
comely  presence ;  he  was  on  good  terms  with  everybody  around 
him — for  he  had  a  smile  and  a  cheerful  word  for  each  one  ho 
met,  gentle  or  simple.  All  this  gay,  glad  life  seemed  to  have  fled. 
The  watchful  Ilamish  was  the  first  to  notice  that  his  master  be- 
gan to  take  less  and  less  interest  in  the  shooting  and  boating  and 
fishing;  and  at  times  the  old  man  was  surprised  and  disturbed 
by  an  exhibition  of  querulous  impatience  that  had  certainly  nev- 
er before  been  one  of  Macleod's  failings.  Then  his  cousin  Janet 
saw  that  he  was  silent  and  absorbed ;  and  his  mother  inquired 
once  or  twice  why  he  did  not  ask  one  or  other  of  his  neighbors 
to  come  over  to  Dare  to  have  a  day's  shooting  with  him. 

"  I  think  you  are  finding  the  place  lonely,  Keith,  now  that 
Norman  Ogilvie  is  gone,"  said  she. 

"  Ah,  mother,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  "  it  is  not  Norman  Ogil- 
vie, it  is  London,  that  has  poisoned  ray  mind.  I  should  never 
have  gone  to  the  South.  I  am  hungering  for  the  flesh-pots  of 
Egypt  already ;  and  I  am  afraid  some  day  I  will  have  to  come 
and  ask  you  to  let  me  go  away  again." 

lie  spoke  jestingly,  and  yet  he  was  regarding  his  mother. 


A    RESOLVE.  155 

"  I  know  it  is  not  pleasant  for  a  young  man  to  be  Iccpt  fret- 
ting at  liome,"  said  slic.  "  But  it  is  not  long  now  I  will  ask  you 
to  do  that,  Keith." 

Of  course  this  brief  speech  only  drove  him  into  more  vigorous 
demonstration  that  ho  was  not  fretting  at  all ;  and  for  a  time  he 
seemed  more  engrossed  than  ever  in  all  the  occupations  he  had 
but  recently  abandoned.  But  'whether  he  was  on  the  hill-side, 
or  down  in  the  glen,  or  out  among  the  islands,  or  whether  ho 
was  trying  to  satisfy  the  hunger  of  his  heart  with  books  long 
after  every  one  in  Castle  Dare  had  gone  to  bed,  he  could  not 
escape  from  this  gnawing  and  torturing  anxiety.  It  was  no 
beautiful  and  gentle  sentiment  that  possessed  him  —  a  pretty 
thing  to  dream  about  during  a  summer's  niornino- — but,  on  the 
contrary,  a  burning  fever  of  unrest,  that  left  him  peace  nor  day 
nor  night.  "  Sudden  love  is  followed  by  sudden  hate,"  says  the 
Gaelic  proverb ;  but  there  had  been  no  suddenness  at  all  about 
this  passion  that  had  stealthily  got  hold  of  him ;  and  he  had 
ceased  even  to  hope  that  it  might  abate  or  depart  altogether. 
He  liad  to  "  dree  his  weird."  And  when  he  read  in  books  about 
the  joy  and  delight  that  accompany  the  awakening  of  love  — 
how  the  world  suddenly  becomes  fair,  and  the  very  skies  are 
bluer  than  their  wont  —  he  wondered  whether  he  was  different 
from  other  human  beings.  The  joy  and  delight  of  love?  lie 
kncv^'  only  a  sick  hunger  of  the  heart  and  a  continual  and  brood- 
ing despair. 

One  morning  he  was  going  along  the  cliffs,  his  only  compan- 
ion being  the  old  black  retriever,  when  suddenly  he  saw,  far  away 
below  him,  the  figure  of  a  lady.  For  a  second  his  heart  stood 
still  at  the  sight  of  this  stranger ;  for  he  knew  it  was  neither  the 
mother  nor  Janet ;  and  she  was  coming  along  a  bit  of  green- 
sward from  which,  by  dint  of  much  climbing,  she  might  have 
reached  Castle  Dare.  But  as  he  watched  her  he  caught  sight  of 
some  other  figures,  farther  below  on  tlie  rocks.  And  then  he 
perceived — as  he  saw  her  return  with  a  handful  of  bell-heather — 
that  this  party  had  come  from  lona,  or  Bunessan,  or  some  such 
place,  to  explore  one  of  the  great  caves  on  this  coast,  while  this 
lady  had  wandered  away  from  them  in  search  of  some  wild  flow- 
ers. By-and-by  he  saw  the  small  boat,  with  its  sprit-sail  white 
in  the  sun,  go  away  toward  the  south,  and  the  lonely  coast  was 
left  as  lonely  as  before. 


156  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

But  ever  after  that  he  grew  to  wonder  what  Gertrude  White, 
if  ever  she  could  be  persuaded  to  visit  liis  home,  would  think  of 
this  thing  and  of  that  thing — what  flowers  she  would  gather — 
whether  she  would  listen  to  Hamish's  stories  of  the  fairies — 
whether  she  would  be  interested  in  her  small  countryman,  John- 
ny Wickes,  who  was  now  in  kilts,  with  his  face  and  legs  as  brown 
as  a  berry — whether  the  favorable  heavens  would  send  her  sun- 
liirht  and  blue  skies,  and  the  moonli2;ht  nights  reveal  to  her  the 
solemn  glory  of  the  sea  and  the  lonely  islands.  Would  she  take 
his  hand  to  steady  herself  in  passing  over  the  slippery  rocks? 
What  would  she  say  if  suddenly  she  saw  above  her  —  by  the 
opening  of  a  cloud  —  a  stag  standing  high  on  a  crag  near  the 
summit  of  Ben-an-Sloich  ?  And  what  would  the  mother  and 
Janet  say  to  that  singing  of  hers,  if  they  were  to  hear  her  put  all 
the  tenderness  of  the  low,  sweet  voice  into  "  Wae's  me  for  Prince 
Charlie  ?" 

There  was  one  secret  nook  that  more  than  any  other  he  asso- 
ciated Avith  her  presence ;  and  thither  he  would  go  when  this 
heart-sickness  seemed  too  grievous  to  be  borne.  It  was  down  in 
a  glen  beyond  the  fir-wood ;  and  here  the  ordinary  desolation  of 
this  bleak  coast  ceased,  for  there  were  plenty  of  young  larches  on 
the  sides  of  the  glen,  with  a  tall  silver-birch  or  two;  while  down 
in  the  hollow  there  v.ere  clumps  of  alders  by  the  side  of  the 
brawling  stream.  And  this  dell  that  he  sought  was  hidden  away 
from  sight,  with  the  sun  but  partially  breaking  through  the  aldei"s 
and  rowans,  and  bespeckling  the  great  gray  bowlders  by  the  side 
of  the  burn,  many  of  which  were  covered  by  the  softest  of  olive- 
green  moss.  Here,  too,  the  brook,  that  had  been  broken  just 
above  by  intercepting  stones,  swept  clearly  and  limpidly  over 
a  bed  of  smooth  rock ;  and  in  the  golden-brown  water  the  trout 
lay,  and  scarcely  moved  until  some  motion  of  his  hand  made 
them  shoot  up  stream  with  a  lightning  speed.  And  then  the 
wild  flowers  around — the  purple  ling  and  red  bell-heather  grow- 
ing on  the  silver-gray  rocks ;  a  foxglove  or  two  towering  high 
above  the  golden-green  breckans ;  the  red  star  of  a  crane's-bill 
among  the  velvet  moss.  Even  if  she  were  overawed  by  the  soli- 
tariness of  the  Atlantic  and  the  gloom  of  the  tall  cliffs  and  their 
yawning  caves,  surely  here  would  be  a  haven  of  peace  and  rest, 
with  sunshine,  and  flowers,  and  the  pleasant  murmur  of  the  stream. 
What  did  it  say,  then,  as  one  sat  and  listened  in  the  silence? 


A    RESOLVE,  15V 

When  the  fair  poetess  from  strange  lands  came  amont^  the  Mac- 
leods,  did  she  seek  out  this  still  retreat,  and  listen,  and  listen,  and 
listen,  until  she  caught  the  music  of  this  monotonous  murmur, 
and  sang  it  to  her  harp  ?  And  v.'as  it  not  all  a  song  about  the 
passing  away  of  life,  and  how  that  summer  days  were  for  the 
young,  and  liow  the  world  was  beautiful  for  lovers  ?  "  Oh,  chil- 
dren 1"  it  seemed  to  say,  "  why  should  you  waste  your  lives  in 
vain  endeavor,  while  the  winter  is  coming  quick,  and  the  black 
snow-stonns,  and  a  roaring  of  wind  from  the  sea?  Hero  I  have 
flowers  for  you,  and  beautiful  sunlight,  and  the  peace  of  summer 
days.  Time  passes  —  time  passes  —  time  passes  —  and  you  arc 
growing  old.  While  as  yet  the  heart  is  warm  and  the  eye  is 
bright,  here  are  summer  flowers  for  you,  and  a  silence  fit  for  the 
mingling  of  lovers'  speech.  If  you  listen  not,  I  laugh  at  you 
and  go  my  way.     But  the  winter  is  coming  fast." 

Far  away  in  these  grimy  towns,  fighting  with  mean  cares  and 
petty  jealousies,  dissatisfied,  despondent,  careless  as  to  the  future, 
how  could  this  message  reach  her  to  fill  her  heart  with  the  sinf- 
ing  of  a  bird  ?  He  dared  not  send  it,  at  all  events.  But  he 
wrote  to  her.  And  the  bitter  travail  of  the  writing  of  that  letter 
he  long  remembered.  He  was  bound  to  give  her  his  sympathy, 
and  to  make  light  as  well  as  he  could  of  those  very  evils  which  he 
had  been  the  first  to  reveal  to  her.  He  tried  to  write  in  as  frank 
and  friendly  a  spirit  as  she  bad  done ;  the  letter  was  quite  cheerful. 

"  Did  you  know,"  said  he,  "  that  once  upon  a  time  the  chief  of 
the  Macleods  married  a  fairy?  And  whether  Macleod  did  not 
treat  her  well,  or  whether  the  fairy-folk  reclaimed  her,  or  whether 
she  grew  tired  of  the  place,  I  do  not  know  quite ;  but,  at  all 
events,  they  were  separated,  and  she  went  away  to  her  own  peo- 
ple. But  before  she  went  away  she  gave  to  Macleod  a  fairy  ban- 
ner— the  Bratach  sith  it  is  known  as — and  she  told  him  tliat  if 
ever  he  was  in  great  peril,  or  had  any  great  desire,  he  was  to 
wave  that  flag,  and  whatever  he  desired  would  come  to  pass. 
But  the  virtue  of  the  Bratach  sith  would  depart  after  it  had  been 
waved  three  times.  Now  the  small  green  banner  has  been  waved 
only  twice;  and  now  I  believe  it  is  still  preserved  in  the  Castle 
of  Dunvegan,  with  power  to  w^ork  one  more  miracle  on  behalf  of 
the  Macleods.  And  if  I  had  the  fairy  flag,  do  you  know  what 
I  would  do  with  it?  I  would  take  it  in  my  hand,  and  say:  '/ 
desire  the  fairy  peojyle  to  remove  my  friend  Gertrude  White  from 


158  MACLEOD    OF    DARK. 

all  the  evil  influences  that  disturb  and  distress  her.  I  desire  them 
to  heal  her  wounded  spirit^  and  secure  for  her  everything  that 
may  tend  to  her  life-long  haj)piness.  And  I  desire  that  all  the 
theatres  in  the  kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland — with  all 
their  musical  instruments,  lime-light,  and  painted  scenes — may  be 
taken  and  dropjyed  into  the  ocean,  midway  between  the  islands  of 
Ulva  and  Coll,  so  that  the  fairy-folk  may  amuse  themselves  in 
them  if  they  vjill  so  please.^  Would  not  that  be  a  very  nice  form 
of  incantation  ?  We  are  very  strong  believers  here  in  the  power 
of  one  person  to  damage  another  in  absence  ;  and  when  you  can 
kill  a  man  by  sticking  pins  into  a  waxen  image  of  him — which 
everybody  knows  to  be  true  —  surely  you  ouglit  to  be  able  to 
lielp  a  friend,  especially  with  the  aid  of  the  Bratach  sith.  Im- 
agine Covent  Garden  Theatre  a  hundred  fathoms  down  in  the 
deep  sea,  v^ith  merinaidens  playing  the  brass  instruments  in  the 
orchestra,  and  the  fairy-folk  on  the  stage,  and  seals  disporting 
themselves  in  the  stalls,  and  guillemots  shooting  about  the  upper 
galleries  in  pursuit  of  fish.  But  v.'e  should  get  no  peace  from 
lona.  The  fairies  there  are  very  pious  people.  They  used  to 
carry  St.  Columba  about  when  he  got  tired.  They  would  be 
sure  to  demand  the  sliutting  up  of  all  tlie  tlieatres,  and  the  de- 
struction of  tlie  brass  instruments.  And  I  don't  see  liow  we  could 
reasonably  object." 

It  was  a  cruel  sort  of  jesting ;  but  liow  otherwise  than  as  a  jest 
could  lie  convey  to  her,  an  actress,  liis  wish  that  all  theatres 
were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea?  For  a  brief  time  tliat  letter 
seemed  to  establish  some  link  of  communication  between  him 
and  her.  He  followed  it  on  its  travels  by  sea  and  land.  He 
thought  of  its  reaching  the  house  in  which  she  dwelt — perliaps 
some  plain  and  grimy  building  in  a  great  manufacturing  city,  or 
peiliaps  a  small  quiet  cottage  up  by  Regent's  Park  half  hidden 
among  the  golden  leaves  of  October.  Might  slie  not,  moreover, 
after  she  had  opened  it  and  read  it,  be  moved  by  some  passing 
whim  to  answer  it,  though  it  demanded  no  answer?  He  waited 
for  a  week,  and  there  was  no  word  or  message  from  the  South. 
She  was  far  away,  and  silent.  And  the  hills  grew  lonelier  tlian 
before,  and  the  sickness  of  his  heart  increased. 

This  state  of  mind  could  not  last.  His  longing  and  impatience 
and  unrest  became  more  than  he  could  bear.  It  was  in  vain  that 
he  tried  to  satisfy  his  imaginative  craving  with  these  idle  visions 


A    RESOLVE.  159 

of  her :  it  was  she  herself  lie  must  see ;  and  he  set  about  devising 
all  manner  of  wild  excuses  for  one  last  visit  to  the  South.  But 
the  more  he  considered  these  various  projects,  the  more  ashamed 
he  grew  in  thinking  of  his  taking  any  one  of  them  and  placing 
it  before  the  beautiful  old  dame  who  reigned  in  Castle  Dare. 
He  had  barely  been  three  months  at  home:  how  could  he  ex- 
plain to  her  this  sudden  desire  to  go  away  again  ? 

One  morning  his  cousin  Janet  came  to  him. 

"  Oh,  Keith !"  said  she,  "  the  whole  house  is  in  commotion  ; 
and  Ilamish  is  for  murdering  some  of  the  lads;  and  there  is  no 
one  would  dare  to  bring  the  news  to  you.  The  two  young  buz- 
zards liave  escaped !" 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said.     "  I  let  them  out  myself." 

"  You  !"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise ;  for  she  knew  the  great  in- 
terest lie  had  shown  in  watching  the  habits  of  the  young  hawks 
that  had  been  captured  by  a  shepherd  lad. 

"  Yes ;  I  let  them  out  last  night.  It  was  a  pity  to  have  them 
caged  up." 

"So  long  as  it  was  yourself,  it  is  all  right,"  she  said;  and  then 
she  was  going  away.  But  she  paused  and  turned,  and  said  to 
liim,  with  a  smile,  "And  I  think  you  should  let  yourself  escape, 
too,  Keith,  for  it  is  you  too  that  arc  caged  up  ;  and  perhaps 
you  feel  it  now  more  since  you  have  been  to  London.  And  if 
you  are  thinking  of  your  friends  in  London,  why  should  you  not 
o-o  for  anotlicr  visit  to  the  South  before  vou  settle  down  to  the 
long  winter?" 

For  an  instant  he  regarded  her  with  some  fear.  Had  she 
guessed  his  secret?  Had  she  been  watching  the  outward  signs 
of  this  constant  torture  he  had  been  suffering?  Had  she  sur- 
mised that  the  otter-skins  about  which  he  had  asked  her  advice 
were  not  consigned  to  any  one  of  the  married  ladies  whose  ac- 
quaintance he  had  made  in  the  South,  and  of  whom  he  had  chat- 
ted freely  enough  in  Castle  Dare  ?  Or  was  this  merely  a  passing 
sn^fifestion  thrown  out  by  one  who  was  always  on  the  lookout 
to  do  a  kindness? 

"  Well,  I  would  like  to  go,  Janet,"  he  said,  but  with  no  glad- 
ness in  liis  voice ;  "  and  it  is  not  more  than  a  week  or  two  I 
sliould  like  to  be  away ;  but  I  do  not  think  the  mother  would 
like  it ;  and  it  is  enough  money  I  have  spent  this  year  already — " 

*'  There  is  no  concern  about  the  money,  Keith,"  said  she,  sim- 


160  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

ply,  "  since  you  liave  not  touched  what  I  gave  you.  And  if  you 
arc  set  upon  it,  you  know  auntie  will  agree  to  whatever  you 
wish." 

"  But  how  can  I  explain  to  her  ?  It  is  unreasonable  to  be  go- 
ing away." 

How,  indeed,  could  he  explain  ?  He  was  almost  assuming  that 
those  gentle  eyes  now  fixed  on  him  could  read  his  heart,  and  that 
she  would  come  to  aid  him  in  his  suffering  without  any  further 
speech  from  him.  And  that  was  precisely  what  Janet  Macleod 
did — whether  or  not  she  had  guessed  the  cause  of  his  desire  to 
get  away. 

"  If  you  were  a  school-boy,  Keith,  you  would  be  cleverer  at 
making  an  excuse  for  playing  truant,"  she  said,  laughing.  "And 
I  could  make  one  for  you  now." 

"  You  ?" 

"  I  will  not  call  it  an  excuse,  Keith,"  she  said,  "  because  I 
think  you  would  be  doing  a  good  work ;  and  I  will  bear  the  ex- 
pense of  it,  if  you  please." 

He  looked  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"  When  we  were  at  Salen  yesterday  I  saw  Major  Stuart,  and  ho 
has  just  come  back  from  Dunrobin.  And  he  was  saying  very 
great  things  about  the  machine  for  the  drying  of  crops  in  wet 
weather,  and  he  said  he  would  like  to  go  to  England  to  see  the 
newer  ones  and  all  the  later  improvements,  if  there  was  a  chance 
of  any  one  about  here  going  shares  with  him.  And  it  would  not 
be  very  much,  Keith,  if  you  were  to  share  with  him  ;  and  the 
machine  it  can  be  moved  about  vcrv  well :  and  in  the  bad  weath- 
er  you  could  give  the  cotters  some  help,  to  say  nothing  about  our 
own  hay  and  corn.  And  that  is  what  Major  Stuart  was  saying 
yesterday,  that  if  there  was  any  place  that  you  wanted  a  drying- 
machine  for  the  crops  it  was  in  Mull." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  myself,"  he  said,  absently,  "  but 
our  farm  is  too  small  to  make  it  pay — " 

"But  if  Major  Stuart  will  take  half  the  expense?  And  even 
if  you  lost  a  little,  Keith,  you  would  save  a  great  deal  to  the 
poorer  people  who  are  continually  losing  their  little  patches  of 
crops.  And  will  you  go  and  be  my  agent,  Keith,  to  go  and  see 
whether  it  is  practicable  ?" 

"  They  will  not  thank  you,  Janet,  for  lotting  them  have  this 
help  for  nothing." 


A    RESOLVE.  IGl 

"  They  shall  not  have  it  for  nothing,"  said  she — for  she  had 
plenty  of  experience  in  dealing  with  the  poorer  folk  around — 
"  they  must  pay  for  the  fuel  that  is  used.  And  now,  Keith,  if  it 
'.s  a  holiday  you  want,  will  not  that  be  a  very  good  holiday,  and 
one  to  be  used  for  a  very  good  purpose,  too  ?" 

She  left  him.  Where  was  the  eager  joy  with  which  he  ought 
to  have  accepted  this  offer?  Here  was  the  very  means  placed 
within  his  reach  of  satisfying  the  craving  desire  of  his  heart ;  and 
yet,  all  the  same,  he  seemed  to  shrink  back  with  a  vague  and  un- 
defined dread.  A  thousand  impalpable  fears  and  doubts  beset 
liis  mind.  He  had  grown  timid  as  a  woman.  The  old  happy 
audacity  had  been  destroyed  by  sleepless  nights  and  a  torturing 
anxiety.  It  was  a  new  thing  for  Keith  Macleod  to  have  become 
a  prey  to  strange  unintelligible  forebodings. 

But  he  went  and  saw  Major  Stuart — a  round,  red,  jolly  little 
man,  with  white  hair  and  a  cheerful  smile,  who  had  a  sombre  and 
melancholy  wife.  Major  Stuart  received  Macleod's  offer  with 
great  gravity.  It  was  a  matter  of  business  that  demanded  serious 
consideration.  lie  had  worked  out  the  whole  system  of  drying 
crops  with  hot  air  as  it  was  shown  him  in  pamphlets,  reports,  and 
agricultural  journals,  and  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that — 
on  paper  at  least — it  could  be  made  to  pay.  What  was  wanted 
was  to  give  the  thing  a  practical  trial.  If  the  system  was  sound, 
surely  any  one  who  helped  to  introduce  it  into  the  Western 
Highlands  was  doing  a  very  good  work  indeed.  And  there  was 
nothing  but  personal  inspection  could  decide  on  the  various  mer- 
its of  the  latest  improvements. 

This  Avas  what  he  said  before  his  Avife  one  night  at  dinner. 
But  when  the  ladies  had  left  the  room,  the  little  stout  major  sud- 
denly put  up  both  his  hands,  snapped  his  thumb  and  middle 
finger,  and  very  cleverly  executed  one  or  two  reel  steps. 

"  By  George !  my  boy,"  said  he,  Avith  a  ferocious  grin  on  his 
face,  "  I  think  we  Avill  have  a  little  frolic — a  little  frolic — a  little 
frolic !  You  Avere  never  shut  up  in  a  house  for  six  months  Avith 
a  woman  like  my  wife,  were  you,  Macleod  ?  You  Avere  never  re- 
minded of  your  coffin  every  morning,  Avcre  you  ?  Macleod,  my 
boy,  I  am  just  mad  to  get  after  those  drying-machines !" 

And  indeed  Macleod  could  not  have  had  a  merrier  companion 
to  go  South  Avith  him  than  this  rubicund  major  just  escaped 
from  the  thraldom  of  his  wife.     But  it  Avas  with  no  such  high 


'a' 


1G2  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

spirits  tliat  Maclcod  set  out.  Perhaps  it  was  only  tlie  want  of 
sleep  that  had  rcn<lcrcd  him  nerveless  and  morbid ;  but  he  felt, 
as  he  left  Castle  Dare,  that  there  was  a  lie  in  his  actions,  if  not 
in  his  words.  And  as  for  the  future  that  lay  before  him,  it  was 
a  region  only  of  doubt,  and  vague  regrets,  and  unknown  fears ; 
and  he  was  entering  upon  it  without  any  glimpse  of  light,  and 
without  the  guidance  of  any  friendly  hand. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

OTTER-SKINS. 

"Ah,  pappy,"  said  Miss  Gertrude  Wliitc  to  her  father — and 
she  pretended  to  sigh  as  she  spoke — "  tliis  is  a  change  indeed  !'' 

They  were  driving  up  to  the  gate  of  the  small  cottage  in  South 
Bank.  It  was  the  end  of  October.  In  the  gardens  they  passed 
the  trees  were  almost  bare ;  though  such  leaves  as  hung  sparsely 
on  the  brandies  of  the  chestnuts  and  maples  were  ablaze  with 
russet  and  gold  in  the  misty  sunshine. 

"  In  another  week,"  she  continued,  "  there  will  not  be  a  leaf 
left.  I  dare  say  there  is  not  a  single  geranium  in  the  garden. 
All  hands  on  deck  to  pipe  a  farewell : 

'Ihr  Mattcn,  Icbt  wolil, 
Ihr  sonnigen  AVeiden 
Der  Senne  muss  soheiden, 
Der  Sommcr  ist  hin.' 

Farewell  to  the  blue  mountains  of  Newcastle,  and  the  sunlit  val- 
leys of  Liverpool,  and  the  silver  waterfalls  of  Leeds;  the  sum- 
mer is  indeed  over;  and  a  very  nice  and  pleasant  summer  we 
have  had  of  it." 

The  flavor  of  sarcasm  running  through  this  affected  sadness 
vexed  Mr.  White,  and  he  answered,  sharply, 

"  I  think  you  liave  little  reason  to  grumble  over  a  tour  which 
has  so  distinctly  added  to  your  reputation." 

"  I  was  not  aware,"  said  she,  with  a  certain  careless  saucincss 
of  manner,  "  that  an  actress  was  allowed  to  have  a  reputation ; 
at  least,  there  are  always  plenty  of  people  anxious  enough  to  take 
it  away." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  lie,  sternly,  "  what  do  you  mean  by  this  con- 


OTTER-SKINS.  1G3 

stant  carping  ?  Do  you  wish  to  cease  to  be  an  actress  ?  or  what 
in  all  the  v/orld  do  you  want  ?" 

*'  To  cease  to  be  an  actress  ?"  she  said,  with  a  mild  wonder, 
and  with  the  sweetest  of  smiles,  as  she  prepared  to  get  out  of  the 
open  door  of  the  cab.  "  Why,  don't  you  know,  pappy,  that  n 
leopard  cannot  change  his  spots,  or  an  Ethiopian  his  skin  ?  Take 
care  of  the  step,  pappy  !  That's  right.  Come  here,  Marie,  and 
give  the  cabman  a  hand  with  this  portmanteau." 

Miss  White  v/as  not  grumbling  at  all — but,  on  the  contrary, 
was  quite  pleasant  and  cheerful  —  when  she  entered  the  small 
liousc  and  found  herself  once  more  at  home. 

"  Oh,  Carry,"  she  said,  when  her  sister  followed  her  into  her 
room,  "  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  get  back  home,  after  liaving 
been  bandied  from  one  hotel  to  another  hotel,  and  from  one  lodg- 
ing-house to  another  lodging-house,  for  goodness  knows  how 
long." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  said  Miss  Carry,  with  such  marked  coldness  that 
lier  sister  turned  to  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  V  the  younger  sister  retorted, 
with  sudden  fire.  "  Do  you  know  that  your  letters  to  me  have 
been  quite  disgraceful  ?" 

"  You  are  crazed,  child  —  you  wrote  something  about  it  the 
other  day — I  could  not  make  out  what  you  meant,"  said  Miss 
AVhite ;  and  she  went  to  the  glass  to  see  that  the  beautiful  brown 
hair  had  not  been  too  much  disarranged  by  the  removal  of  her 
bonnet. 

"  It  is  you  arc  crazed,  Gertrude  White,"  said  Carry,  who  had 
apparently  picked  up  from  some  melodrama  the  notion  that  it 
was  rather  effective  to  address  a  person  by  her  full  name.  "  I 
am  really  ashamed  of  you — that  you  should  liave  let  yourself  be 
bewitched  by  a  parcel  of  beasts'  skins.  I  declare  that  your  rav- 
ings about  the  Highlands,  and  fairies,  and  trash  of  that  sort,  have 
been  only  fit  for  a  penny  journal — " 

Miss  White  turned  and  stared — as  well  she  miglit.  This  in- 
dignant person  of  fourteen  had  flashing  eyes  and  a  visage  of 
wrath.  The  pale,  calm,  elder  sister  only  remarked,  in  that  deep- 
toned  and  gentle  voice  of  hers, 

"  Your  language  is  pretty  considerably  strong.  Carry.  I  don't 
know  what  has  aroused  such  a  passion  in  you.     Because  I  wrote 


164  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

to  you  about  the  Highlands?  Because  I  sent  you  that  collection 
of  legends'  Because  it  seemed  to  rae,  when  I  was  in  a  wretched 
hotel  in  some  dirty  town,  I  would  rather  be  away  yachting  or 
driving  with  some  one  of  the  various  parties  of  people  whom  I 
know,  and  who  had  mostly  gone  to  Scotland  this  year?  If  you 
are  jealous  of  the  Highlands,  Carry,  I  Avill  undertake  to  root  out 
the  name  of  every  mountain  and  lake  that  has  got  hold  of  ray 
affections." 

She  was  turning  away  again,  with  a  quiet  smile  on  her  face, 
when  her  younger  sister  arrested  her. 

"What's  that?"  said  she,  so  sharply,  and  extending  her  fore- 
finger so  suddenly,  that  Gertrude  almost  slirank  back. 

"  What's  what  ?"  she  said,  in  dismay — fearing,  perhaps,  to  hear 
of  an  adder  being  on  her  shoulder. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well,"  said  Miss  Carry,  vehemently,  "  it 
is  the  Macleod  tartan  !" 

Now  the  truth  was  that  iliss  White's  travelling-dress  was  of  an 
unrelieved  gray ;  the  only  scrap  of  color  about  her  costume  being  a 
tiny  thread  of  tartan  ribbon  that  just  showed  in  front  of  her  collar. 

"The  Macleod  tartan?"  said  the  elder  sister,  demurely.  "And 
what  if  it  were  the  Macleod  tartan  ?" 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Gerty !  There  was 
quite  enough  occasion  for  people  to  talk  in  the  way  he  kept 
coming  here;  and  now  you  make  a  parade  of  it:  you  ask  peo- 
ple to  look  at  you  Avearing  a  badge  of  servitude — you  say, '  Oh, 
here  I  am ;  and  I  am  quite  ready  to  be  your  wife  when  you  ask 
nic,  Sir  Keith  Macleod  !' " 

There  was  no  ilush  of  anger  in  the  fair  and  placid  face ;  but 
rather  a  look  of  demure  amusement  in  the  downcast  eyes. 

"  Dear  rae,  Carry  !"  said  she,  with  great  innocence,  "  the  pro- 
fession of  an  actress  must  be  looking  up  in  public  estimation 
when  such  a  rumor  as  that  could  even  get  into  existence.  And 
so  people  have  been  so  kind  as  to  suggest  that  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod, the  representative  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  proudest  fami- 
lies in  the  kingdom,  would  not  be  above  marrying  a  poor  actress 
who  has  her  living  to  earn,  and  Avho  is  supported  by  the  half- 
crowns  and  half-sovereigns  of  the  public?  And  indeed  I  think 
it  would  look  very  v/ell  to  have  him  loitering  about  the  stage- 
doors  of  provincial  theatres  until  his  wife  should  be  ready  to 
come  out ;  and  would  he  bring  his  gillies,  and  keepers,  and  head- 


OTTER-SKINS.  165 

foresters,  and  put  tlicm  into  the  pit  to  applaud  lier?     Really,  the 
role  you  have  cut  out  for  a  Highland  gentleman — " 

"A  Highland  gentleman!"  exclaimed  Carry.  "A  Highland 
pauper!  I3ut  you  are  quite  right,  Gerty,  to  laugh  at  the  rumor. 
Of  course  it  is  quite  ridiculous.  It  is  quite  ridiculous  to  think 
that  an  actress  whose  fame  is  all  over  England — who  is  sought 
after  by  everybody,  and  the  popularest  favorite  ever  seen — would 
give  up  everything  and  go  away  and  marry  an  ignorant  High- 
land savage,  and  look  after  his  calves  and  his  cows  and  hens  for 
him.     That  is  indeed  ridiculous,  Gerty." 

"Very  well,  then,  put  it  out  of  your  mind;  and  never  let  me 
hear  another  word  about  it,"  said  the  popularest  favorite,  as  she 
undid  the  bit  of  tartan  ribbon ;  "  and  if  it  is  any  great  comfort 
to  you  to  know,  this  is  not  the  jMacleod  tartan  but  the  MacDougal 
tartan,  and  you  may  put  it  in  the  fire  if  you  like." 

Saying  which,  she  threw  the  bit  of  costume  which  had  given 
so  great  offence  on  the  table.  The  discomfited  Carry  looked  at 
it,  but  would  not  touch  it.     At  last  she  said, 

"  Where  are  the  skins,  Gerty  ?" 

"  Near  Castle  Dare,"  answered  Miss  White,  turning  to  get  some- 
thing else  for  her  neck ;  "there  is  a  steep  hill,  and  the  road  comes 
over  it.  When  you  climb  to  the  top  of  the  hill  and  sit  down, 
the  fairies  will  carry  you  right  to  the  bottom  if  you  are  in  a 
proper  frame  of  mind.  But  they  won't  appear  at  all  unless  you 
are  at  peace  with  all  men.  I  will  show  you  the  skins  when  you 
ai-e  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind.  Carry." 

"  ^Yho  told  you  that  story  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Sir  Keith  Macleod,"  the  elder  sister  said,  without  thinking. 

"  Then  he  has  been  writing  to  you  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

She  marched  out  of  the  room.  Gertrude  AVhite,  unconscious 
of  the  fierce  rage  she  had  aroused,  carelessly  proceeded  with  her 
toilet,  trying  now  one  flower  and  now  another  in  the  ripples 
of  her  sun-brown  hair,  but  finally  discarding  these  half-withered 
things  for  a  narrow  band  of  blue  velvet. 

'•  Threescore  o'  nobles  rode  up  the  king's  ha'," 

she  was  humming  thoughtlessly  to  herself  as  she  stood  with  her 
hands  uplifted  to  her  head,  revealing  the  beautiful  lines  of  her 
figure. 


160  MACLKOD    OK    DAKE. 

"  But  Bonnie  Glenogic's  the  flower  o'  them  a' ; 
Wi'  his  milk-white  steed  and  his  coal-black  e'e : 
Glenogie,  dear  mither,  Glenogie  for  me !" 

At  length  she  had  finished,  and  was  ready  to  proceed  to  her  im- 
mediate work  of  overhauling  domestic  affairs.  When  Keith  Mac- 
leod  was  struck  by  the  exceeding  neatness  and  perfection  of  ar- 
rangement in  this  small  house,  he  was  in  nowise  the  victim  of  any 
stasxe-effect.  Gertrude  White  was  at  all  times  and  in  all  seasons 
a  precise  and  accurate  house -mistress.  Harassed,  as  an  actress 
must  often  be,  by  other  cares;  sometimes  exhausted  with  hard 
work;  perhaps  tempted  now  and  again  by  the  self-satisfaction 
of  a  splendid  triumph  to  let  meaner  concerns  go  unheeded ;  all 
the  same,  she  allowed  nothing  to  interfere  with  her  domestic 
duties. 

"  Gerty,"  her  father  said,  impatiently,  to  her  a  day  or  two  be- 
fore they  left  London  for  the  provinces,  "  what  is  the  use  of 
your  going  down  to  these  stores  yourself?  Surely  you  can  send 
Jane  or  Marie.  You  really  waste  far  too  much  time  over  the 
veriest  trifles :  how  can  it  matter  what  sort  of  mustard  we  have  ?" 

"And,  indeed,  I  am  glad  to  have  sometliing  to  convince  me 
that  I  am  a  human  being  and  a  woman,"  she  had  said,  instantly, 
"  something  to  be  myself  in.  I  believe  Providence  intended  me 
to  be  the  manager  of  a  Swiss  hotel." 

This  was  one  of  the  first  occasions  on  which  she  had  revealed 
to  her  father  that  she  had  been  thinking  a  good  deal  about  her 
lot  in  life,  and  was  perhaps  beginning  to  doubt  whether  the 
struggle  to  become  a  great  and  famous  actress  Avas  the  only 
thing  worth  living  for.  But  he  paid  little  attention  to  it  at  the 
time.  He  had  a  vague  impression  that  it  was  scarcely  worth  dis- 
cussing about.  He  was  pretty  well  convinced  that  his  daughter 
was  clever  enough  to  argue  herself  into  any  sort  of  belief  about 
herself,  if  she  should  take  some  fantastic  notion  into  her  head. 
It  was  not  until  that  night  in  Manchester  that  he  began  to 
fear  there  might  be  something  serious  in  these  expressions  of 
discontent. 

On  this  bright  October  morning  Miss  Gertrude  White  was 
about  to  begin  her  domestic  i)iquiries,  and  was  leaving  her  room 
liumming  cheerfully  to  herself  something  about  the  bonnie  Glen- 
ogie of  the  song,  when  she  was  again  stopped  by  her  sister,  who 
was  carrying  a  bundle. 


OTTER-SKINS.  107 

"I  have  got  the  skins,"  she  said,  gloomily.  "Jane  took  them 
out." 

"  Will  you  look  at  them  ?"  the  sister  said,  kindly.  "  They  are 
very  pretty.  If  they  were  not  a  present,  I  would  give  them  to 
you,  to  make  a  jacket  of  them." 

"  /  wear  them  ?"  said  she.     "  Not  likely  1" 

Nevertheless  she  had  sufficient  womanly  curiosity  to  let  her 
elder  sister  open  the  parcel ;  and  then  she  took  up  the  otter-skins 
one  by  one,  and  looked  at  them. 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  them,"  she  said. 

The  other  bore  this  taunt  patiently. 

"They  are  only  big  moles,  aren't  they?  x\nd  I  thought  mole- 
skin was  only  worn  by  working-peoj)le." 

"  I  am  a  working-person  too,"  Miss  Gertrude  White  said ;  "  but, 
in  any  case,  I  think  a  jacket  of  these  skins  will  look  lovely." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?  Well,  you  can't  say  much  for  the 
smell  of  them." 

"It  is  no  more  disagreeable  than  the  smell  of  a  seal -skin 
jacket." 

She  laid  down  the  last  of  the  skins  with  some  air  of  disdain. 

"It  will  bo  a  nice  series  of  trophies,  anyway  —  showing  you 
know  some  one  who  goes  about  spending  his  life  in  killing  in- 
offensive animals." 

"  Poor  Sir  Keith  Macleod  !  What  has  he  done  to  offend  you, 
Carry  ?" 

Miss  Carry  turned  her  head  away  for  a  minute ;  but  presently 
she  boldly  faced  her  sister. 

"  Gcrty,  you  don't  mean  to  marry  a  beauty  man  !" 

Gerty  looked  considerably  puzzled;  but  her  companion  con- 
tinued, vehemently, 

"  How  often  have  I  heard  yon  say  you  would  never  marry  a 
beauty  man — a  man  who  has  been  brought  up  in  front  of  the 
looking-glass  —  who  is  far  too  well  satisfied  with  his  own  good 
looks  to  think  of  anything  or  anybody  else !  Again  and  again 
you  have  said  that,  Gertrude  White.  You  told  me,  rather  than 
marry  a  self-satisfied  coxcomb,  you  would  marry  a  misshapen, 
ugly  little  man,  so  that  he  would  Avorship  you  all  the  days  of 
your  life  for  your  condescension  and  kindness." 

"  Very  wefl,  then  i" 

"  And  Avhat  is  Sir  Keith  Macleod  but  a  beauty  man  ?" 


168  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  He  is  not !"  and  for  once  the  elder  sister  betrayed  some  feel- 
ing in  tlie  proud  tone  of  lier  voice.  "  lie  is  tlie  manliest-looking 
man  that  I  have  ever  seen ;  and  I  have  seen  a  good  many  more 
men  than  you.  There  is  not  a  man  you  know  whom  he  could 
not  throw  across  the  canal  down  there.  Sir  Keith  Macleod  a 
beauty  man  ! — I  think  he  could  take  on  a  good  deal  more  pol- 
ishing, and  curling,  and  smoothing  without  any  great  harm.  If 
I  was  in  any  danger,  I  know  which  of  all  the  men  I  have  seen  I 
would  rather  have  in  front  of  me  —  with  his  arms  free;  and  I 
don't  suppose  he  would  be  thinking  of  any  looking-glass!  If 
you  want  to  know  about  the  race  he  represents,  read  English  his- 
tory, and  the  story  of  England's  wars.  If  you  go  to  India,  or 
China,  or  Africa,  or  the  Crimea,  you  will  hear  something  about 
the  Macleods,  I  think  !" 

Carry  began  to  cry. 

"You  silly  tiling,  what  is  the  matter  with  yon?"  Gertrude 
White  exclaimed ;  but  of  course  her  arm  was  round  her  sister's 
neck. 

"  It  is  true,  then." 

"  What  is  true  ?" 

"  What  people  say." 

"  What  do  people  say  ?" 

"  That  you  will  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod." 

"  Carry !"  she  said,  angrily,  "  I  can't  imagine  who  has  been 
repeating  such  idiotic  stories  to  you.  I  wish  people  would  mind 
their  own  business.     Sir  Keith  Macleod  marry  me  1" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  never  asked  you  ?"  Carry  said, 
disengaging  herself,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  her  sister's  face. 

"Certainly  not!"  was  the  decided  answer;  but  all  the  same, 
Miss  Gertrude  White's  forehead  and  cheeks  flushed  slightly. 

"  Then  you  know  that  he  means  to ;  and  that  is  why  you  have 
been  writing  to  me,  day  after  da}^  about  the  romance  of  the 
Highlands,  and  fairy  stories,  and  the  pleasure  of  people  who 
could  live  without  caring  for  the  public.  Oh,  Gerty,  why  won't 
you  be  frank  with  me,  and  let  me  know  the  worst  at  once  ?" 

"  If  I  gave  you  a  box  on  the  ears,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  that 
would  be  the  worst  at  once ;  and  I  think  it  would  serve  you 
right  for  listening  to  such  tittle-tattle  and  letting  your  head  be 
filled  with  nonsense.  Haven't  you  sufficient  sense  to  know  that 
you  ought  not  to  compel  me  to  speak  of  such  a  thing — absurd 


OITEK-SKINS.  109 

as  it  is?  I  cannot  go  on  denying  that  I  am  about  to  become 
the  wife  of  Tom,  Diclc,  or  Harry ;  and  yoii  know  the  stories  that 
have  been  going  about  for  years  past.  Wlio  was  I  last  ?  The 
wife  of  a  Russian  nobleman  who  gambled  away  all  my  earnings 
at  Homburg.  You  are  fourteen  now,  Carry ;  you  should  iiave 
more  sense." 

Miss  Carry  dried  her  eyes  ;  but  she  mournfully  shook  licr  head. 
There  were  the  otter -skins  lying  on  the  table.  She  had  seen 
j)lenty  of  the  absurd  paragraphs  about  her  sister  Avhich  good-nat- 
ured friends  had  cut  out  of  provincial  and  foreign  papers  and 
forwarded  to  the  small  family  at  South  Bank.  But  the  mythical 
Russia]!  nobleman  had  never  sent  a  parcel  of  otter-skins.  These 
were  palpable  and  not  to  be  explained  away.  She  sorrowfully 
left  the  room,  unconvinced. 

And  now  Miss  Gertrude  White  set  to  work  with  a  will ;  and 
no  one  Avho  was  only  familiar  with  her  outside  her  own  house 
would  have  recognized  in  this  shifty,  practical,  industrious  person, 
who  went  so  thoroughly  into  all  tlie  details  of  the  small  estab- 
lishment, the  lady  who,  when  she  went  abroad  among  the  gayctics 
of  the  London  season,  was  so  eagerly  sought  after,  and  flattered, 
and  petted,  and  made  the  object  of  all  manner  of  delicate  atten- 
tions. Her  father,  who  suspected  that  her  increased  devotion  to 
these  domestic  duties  was  but  part  of  that  rebellious  spirit  she 
had  recently  betrayed,  had  nevertheless  to  confess  that  there  was 
no  one  but  herself  whom  he  could  trust  to  arrange  his  china  and 
dust  his  curiosities.  And  how  could  he  resent  her  giving  in- 
structions to  the  cook,  when  it  was  his  own  dinner  that  profited 
thereby  ? 

"  Well,  Gerty,"  he  said  that  evening  after  dinner,  "  what  do 

you  think  about  Mr. 's  offer?     It  is  very  good-natured  of 

him  to  let  vou  have  the  ordering  of  the  drawing-room  scene,  for 
you  can  have  the  furniture  and  the  color  to  suit  your  ov/ji  cos- 
tume." 

"  Indeed  I  shall  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it,"  said 
she,  promptly.  "  The  furniture  at  home  is  enough  for  me.  I 
don't  wish  to  become  the  upholsterer  of  a  theatre." 

"You  are  very  ungrateful,  then.  Half  the  effect  of  a  modern 
comedy  is  lost  because  the  people  appear  in  rooms  which  resem- 
ble nothing  at  all  that  people  ever  lived  in.  Ilerc  is  a  man  who 
gives  you  carte  blanche  to  put  a  modern  drawing-room  on  the 

y 


170  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

stage;  and  your  part  would  gain  infinitely  from  Laving  real  sur- 
roundings.    I  consider  it  a  very  flattering  offer." 

"And  perhaps  it  is,  pappy,"  said  she,  "  but  I  think  I  do  enough 
if  I  get  through  my  own  share  of  the  work.  And  it  is  very  silly 
of  him  to  want  me  to  introduce  a  song  into  this  part,  too.  lie 
knows  I  can't  sing — " 

"  Gerty  !"  her  sister  said. 

"  Oh,  you  know  as  well  as  I.  I  can  get  through  a  song  well 
enouo-h  in  a  room  ;  but  I  have  not  enouoh  voice  for  a  theatre : 
and  although  he  says  it  is  only  to  make  the  drawing-room  scone 
more  realistic — and  that  I  need  not  sing  to  the  front — that  is 
all  nonsense.  I  know  what  it  is  meant  for — to  catch  the  gallery. 
Now  I  refuse  to  sing  for  the  gallery." 

This  was  decided  enough. 

"  What  was  the  song  you  put  into  your  last  part,  Gerty  ?"  her 
sister  asked.     "  I  saw  something  in  the  papers  about  it." 

"  It  was  a  Scotch  one,  Carry ;  I  don't  think  you  know  it." 

"  I  wonder  it  was  not  a  Highland  one,"  her  sister  said,  rather 
spitefully. 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  whole  collection  of  Highland  ones  now :  would 
you  like  to  hear  one  ?     Would  you,  pappy  ?" 

She  went  and  fetched  the  book,  and  opened  the  piano. 

"  It  is  an  old  air  that  belonged  to  Scarba,"  she  said  ;  and  then 
she  sang,  simply  and  pathetically  enough,  the  somewhat  stiff  and 
cumbrous  English  translation  of  the  Gaelic  words.  It  was  the 
song  of  the  exiled  Mary  Macleod,  who,  sitting  on  the  shores  of 
"  sea-worn  Mull,"  looks  abroad  on  the  lonely  islands  of  Scarba, 
and  Islay,  and  Jura,  and  laments  that  she  is  far  away  from  her 
own  home. 

"How  do  you  like  it,  pappy?"  she  said,  when  she  had  finished. 
"  It  is  a  pity  I  do  not  know  the  Gaelic.  They  say  that  when 
the  chief  heard  these  verses  repeated,  he  let  the  old  wonjan  go 
back  to  her  own  home." 

One  of  the  two  listeners,  at  all  events,  did  not  seem  to  be  par- 
ticularly struck  by  the  pathos  of  Mary  Macleod's  lament.  She 
Avalked  up  to  the  piano. 

"Wliere  did  you  get  that  book,  Gerty?"  she  said,  in  a  firm 
voice. 

"  Where?"  said  the  other,  innocently.  "  In  Manchester,  I  think 
it  was,  I  bought  it." 


IN    LONDON    AUAIN.  I7l 

But  before  slio  liad  made  tlic  explanation,  Miss  Carry,  convinced 
tliat  tliis,  too,  bad  come  from  ber  enemy,  bad  seized  tbc  book 
and  turned  to  the  title-page.  Neitber  on  title-page  nor  on  fly- 
leaf, bowever,  was  tbere  any  inscription. 

**  Did  you  tbink  it  bad  come  witb  tbc  otter-skins,  Carry  ?"  tbe 
elder  sister  said,  laugbing ;  and  tbe  younger  one  retired,  bafiled 
and  cbagrined,  but  none  tbe  less  resolved  tbat  before  Gertrude 
Wbite  completely  gave  berself  up  to  this  blind  infatuation  for  a 
savage  country  and  for  one  of  its  worthless  inhabitants,  she  would 
have  to  run  tbe  gauntlet  of  many  a  sharp  word  of  warning  and 
i-cproacb. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

IN    LONDON    A  GAIN. 


On  through  the  sleeping  counties  rushed  the  train  —  passinfi- 
woods,  streams,  fertile  valleys,  and  clustering  villages,  all  palely 
shrouded  in  the  faint  morning  mist  that  bad  a  sort  of  suffused 
and  bidden  sunlight  in  it :  tbe  world  had  not  yet  awoke.  But 
Macleod  knew  that,  ere  he  reached  London,  people  would  be 
abroad ;  and  he  almost  sbrank  from  meeting  the  look  of  these 
thousands  of  eager  faces.  Would  not  some  of  them  guess  liis 
errand  ?  Would  he  not  be  sure  to  run  against  a  friend  of  hers — 
an  acquaintance  of  bis  own  ?  It  was  with  a  strange  sense  of  fear 
that  he  stepped  out  and  on  to  the  platform  at  Euston  Station ; 
be  glanced  up  and  down :  if  she  were  suddenly  to  confront  his 
eyes !  A  day  or  two  ago  it  seemed  as  if  innumerable  leagues  of 
ocean  lay  between  him  and  ber,  so  that  tbe  heart  grew  sick  with 
thinking  of  the  distance;  now  that  he  was  in  the  same  town  with 
her,  he  felt  so  close  to  her  that  he  could  almost  hear  her  breathe. 

Major  Stuart  has  enjoyed  a  sound  night's  rest,  and  was  now 
possessed  of  quite  enough  good  spirits  and  loquacity  for  two. 
He  scarcely  observed  the  silence  of  his  companion.  Together 
they  rattled  away  through  this  busy,  eager,  immense  throng,  until 
tliey  got  down  to  the  comparative  quiet  of  Bury  Street:  and 
here  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  find  not  only  that  Macleod's 
old  rooms  were  unoccupied,  but  that  bis  companion  could  have 
the  corresponding  chambers  on  the  floor  above.  They  changed 
their  attire  ;  bad  breakfast ;  and  then  proceeded  to  discuss  their 


172  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

plans  for  the  day.  Major  Stuart  observed  that  be  v/as  in  no  bur- 
ry  to  investigate  the  last  modifications  of  tlie  drying- niacbincs. 
It  would  be  necessary  to  write  and  appoint  an  interview  before 
going  down  into  Essex.  He  bad  several  calls  to  make  in  Lon- 
don ;  if  Macleod  did  not  see  bim  before,  they  should  meet  at 
seven  for  dinner.  Macleod  saw  him  depart  without  any  great 
regret. 

When  he  himself  went  outside  it  was  already  noon,  but  the 
sun  had  not  yet  broken  through  the  mist,  and  London  seemed 
cold,  and  lifeless,  and  deserted.  He  did  not  know  of  any  one  of 
his  former  friends  being  left  in  the  great  and  lonely  city.  He 
walked  along  Piccadilly,  and  saw  how  many  of  the  houses  were 
sriut  up.  The  beautiful  foliage  of  the  Green  Park  bad  vanished; 
and  here  and  there  a  red  leaf  huncc  on  a  withered  branch.  And 
yc-(,  lonely  as  he  felt  in  walking  through  this  crowd  of  strangers, 
he  was  nevertheless  possessed  with  a  nervous  and  excited  fear 
that  at  any  moment  he  might  have  to  quail  before  the  inquiring 
glance  of  a  certain  pair  of  calm,  large  eyes.  Was  this,  then,  real- 
ly Keith  Macleod  who  was  haunted  by  these  fantastic  troubles? 
Had  he  so  little  courage  that  he  dared  not  go  boldly  np  to  her 
house  and  hold  out  his  hand  to  her?  As  he  walked  along  this 
thoroughfare,  he  was  looking  far  ahead  ;  and  when  any  tall  and 
slender  figure  appeared  that  might  by  any  possibility  be  taken 
for  hers,  he  watched  it  with  a  nervous  interest  that  bad  some- 
thing of  dread  in  it.  So  much  for  the  high  courage  born  of 
love ! 

It  was  with  some  sense  of  relief  that  ho  entered  Ilyde  Park, 
for  liere  th.ere  were  fewer  people.  And  as  he  walked  on,  the 
day  brightened.  A  warmer  light  began  to  suffuse  the  pale  mist 
lying  over  the  black-green  masses  of  rhododendrons,  the  leafless 
trees,  the  damp  grass-plots,  the  empty  chairs ;  and  as  lie  was  re- 
garding a  group  of  people  on  horseback  who,  almost  at  the  sum- 
mit of  the  red  hill,  seemed  about  to  disappear  into  the  mist,  be- 
hold !  a  sudden  break  in  the  sky  ;  a  silvery  gleam  shot  atlnvart 
from  the  south,  so  that  these  distant  figures  grew  almost  black ; 
and  presently  the  frail  sunshine  of  November  was  streaming  all 
over  the  red  ride  and  the  raw  green  of  the  grass.  His  spirits 
rose  somewhat.  When  he  reached  the  Serpentine,  the  sunlight 
was  shining  on  the  rippling  blue  water;  and  there  were  pert 
young  ladies  of  ten  or  twelve  feeding  the  ducks ;  and  away  on 


IN    LONDON    AGAIN.  173 

the  other  side  there  was  actually  an  island  amidst  the  blue  ripples; 
and  the  island,  if  it  was  not  as  grand  as  Staffa  nor  as  green  as 
Ulva,  was  nevertheless  an  island,  and  it  was  pleasant  enough  to 
look  at,  with  its  bushes,  and  boats,  and  white  swans.  And  then 
he  bethought  him  of  his  first  walks  by  the  side  of  this  little  lake 
— when  Oscar  was  the  only  creature  in  London  he  had  to  concern 
himself  with — when  each  new  day  was  only  a  brighter  holiday 
than  its  predecessor — when  he  was  of  opinion  that  London  was 
the  happiest  and  most  beautiful  place  in  the  world ;  and  of  that 
bright  morning,  too,  when  he  walked  through  the  empty  streets 
at  dawn,  and  came  to  the  peacefully-flowing  river. 

These  idle  meditations  were  suddenly  interrupted.  Away 
alonnf  the  bank  of  the  lake  his  keen  eve  could  make  out  a  fig- 
urc,  which,  even  at  that  distance,  seemed  so  much  to  resemble 
one  he  knew,  that  his  heart  began  to  beat  quick.  Then  the 
dress — all  of  black,  with  a  white  hat  and  white  gloves;  was  not 
that  of  the  simplicity  that  had  always  so  great  an  attraction  for 
her?  And  he  knev>'  that  she  was  singularly  fond  of  Kensington 
Gardens ;  and  might  she  not  be  going  thither  for  a  stroll  before 
going  back  to  the  Piccadilly  Theatre?  lie  hastened  his  steps. 
He  soon  began  to  gain  on  the  stranger;  and  the  nearer  he  got 
the  more  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  recognized  the  graceful  walk 
and  carriage  of  this  slender  woman.  She  passed  under  the  arch- 
v/ay  of  the  bridge.  When  she  had  emerged  from  the  shadow, 
she  paused  for  a  moment  or  two  to  look  at  the  ducks  on  the 
lake ;  and  this  arch  of  shadow  seemed  to  frame  a  beautiful  sun- 
lit picture  —  the  single  figure  against  a  background  of  green 
bushes.  And  if  this  were  indeed  she,  how  splendid  the  world 
would  all  become  in  a  moment !  In  his  eagerness  of  anticipa- 
tion, he  forgot  his  fear.  What  would  she  say  ?  Was  he  to  hear 
her  lautrh  once  more,  and  take  her  hand?  Alas!  when  he  got 
close  enough  to  make  sure,  he  found  that  this  beautiful  figure 
belonged  to  a  somewhat  pretty,  middle-aged  lady,  who  had  brought 
a  bag  of  scraps  with  her  to  feed  the  ducks.  The  world  grew 
empty  again.  He  passed  on,  in  a  sort  of  dream.  He  only 
knew  he  was  in  Kensington  Gardens ;  and  that  once  or  twice 
he  had  walked  with  her  down  those  broad  alleys  in  the  happy 
summer-time  of  flowers,  and  sunshine,  and  the  scent  of  limes. 
Now  there  was  a  pale  blue  mist  in  the  open  glades ;  and  a  gloomy 
Ijurplo  instead  of  the  brilliant  green  of  the  trees ;  and  the  cold 


174  MACLEOD    OK    DARE. 

wind  that  came  across  rustled  the  masses  of  brown  orange  leaves 
that  were  lying  scattered  on  the  ground.  lie  got  a  little  more 
interested  wlien  he  nearcd  the  Round  Pond ;  for  the  wind  had 
freshened ;  and  there  were  several  handsome  craft  out  there  on 
the  raging  deep,  braving  well  the  sudden  squalls  that  laid  theni 
right  on  their  beam -ends,  and  then  let  them  come  staggering 
and  dripping  up  to  windward.  But  there  were  two  small  boys 
there  who  had  brought  with  them  a  tiny  vessel  of  home-made 
build,  with  a  couple  of  lug- sails,  a  jib,  and  no  rudder;  and  it 
was  a  great  disappointment  to  them  that  this  nondescript  craft 
would  move,  if  it  moved  at  all,  in  an  uncertain  circle.  Macleod 
came  to  their  assistance — got  a  bit  of  floating  stick,  and  carved 
out  of  it  a  rude  rudder,  altered  the  sails,  and  altogether  put  the 
ship  into  such  sea-going  trim  that,  when  she  was  fairly  launched, 
she  kept  a  pretty  good  course  for  the  other  side,  where  doubtless 
she  arrived  in  safety,  and  discharged  her  passengers  and  cargo. 
He  was  almost  sorry  to  part  with  the  two  small  ship-owners. 
They  almost  seemed  to  him  the  only  people  he  knew  in  London. 
But  surely  he  had  not  corae  all  the  way  from  Castle  Dare  to 
walk  about  Kensington  Gardens !  What  had  become  of  that  in- 
tense longing  to  see  her — to  hear  her  speak — that  had  made  his 
life  at  home  a  constant  torment  and  misery?  Well,  it  still  held 
possession  of  him  ;  but  all  the  same  there  was  this  indefinable 
dread  that"  held  him  back.  Perhaps  he  was  afraid  that  he  would 
have  to  confess  to  her  the  true  reason  for  his  having  come  to 
London.  Perhaps  he  feared  he  might  find  her  something  entire- 
ly different  from  the  creature  of  his  dreams.  At  all  events,  as  he 
returned  to  his  rooms  and  sat  down  by  himself  to  think  over  all 
the  things  that  might  accrue  from  this  step  of  his,  he  only  got 
farther  and  farther  into  a  haze  of  nervous  indecision.  One  thing 
only  was  clear  to  him  :  with  all  his  hatred  and  jealousy  of  tlie 
theatre,  to  the  theatre  that  night  he  would  have  to  go.  He  could 
not  know  that  she  was  so  near  to  him — that  at  a  certain  time 
and  place  he  could  certainly  see  her  and  listen  to  her — without 
going.  He  bethought  him,  moreover,  of  what  he  had  once  heard 
her  say — that  while  she  could  fairly  well  make  out  the  people  in 
the  galleries  and  boxes,  those  who  were  sitting  in  the  stalls  close 
to  the  orchestra  were,  by  reason  of  the  glare  of  the  foot-lights, 
quite  invisible  to  her.  Might  he  not,  then,  get  into  some  corner 
where,  himself  unseen,  he  might  bo  so  near  her  that  he  could  al- 


IN    LONDON    AGAIN.  175 

most  stretcli  out  his  hand  to  her  and  take  her  hand,  and  tell,  by 
its  warmth  and  throbbing,  that  it  was  a  real  woman,  and  not  a 
dream,  that  filled  his  heart? 

Major  Stuart  was  put  off  by  some  excuse,  and  at  eight  o'clock 
Macleod  walked  up  to  the  theatre.  He  drew  near  with  some  ap- 
prehension ;  it  almost  seemed  to  him  as  though  the  man  in  the 
box-ofSce  recognized  him,  and  knew  the  reason  for  his  demand- 
ing one  of  those  stalls.  He  got  it  easily  enough  ;  there  was  no 
great  run  on  the  new  piece,  even  though  Miss  Gertrude  \Vliite 
was  the  heroine.  He  made  his  way  along  the  narrow  corridors ; 
he  passed  into  the  glare  of  the  house ;  he  took  his  scat  with  his 
ears  dinned  by  the  loud  music,  and  waited.  He  paid  no  heed  to 
his  neighbors ;  he  had  already  twisted  up  the  programme  so  that 
he  could  not  have  read  it  if  he  had  wished ;  he  was  aware  mostly 
of  a  sort  of  slightly  choking  sensation  about  the  throat. 

When  Gertrude  White  did  appear — she  came  in  unexpectedly 
■ — he  almost  uttered  a  cry ;  and  it  would  have  been  a  cry  of  de- 
light. For  there  was  a  flesh-and-blood  woman,  a  thousand  times 
more  interesting,  and  beautiful,  and  lovable  than  all  his  fancied 
pictures  of  her.  Look  how  she  walks — how  simply  and  grace- 
fully she  takes  off  her  hat  and  places  it  on  the  table !  Look  at 
the  play  of  light,  and  life,  and  gladness  on  her  face — at  the  elo- 
quence of  her  eyes !  He  had  been  thinking  of  her  eyes  as  too 
calmly  observant  and  serious :  he  saw  them  now,  and  was  amazed 
at  the  difference — they  seemed  to  have  so  much  clear  light  in 
them,  and  pleasant  laughter.  He  did  not  fear  at  all  that  she 
should  sec  him.  She  was  so  near — he  wished  he  could  take  her 
hand  and  lead  her  away.  What  concern  had  these  people  around 
with  her?  This  was  Gertrude  White  —  whom  he  knew.  She 
was  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Ross's ;  she  lived  in  a  quiet  little  home,  with 
an  affectionate  and  provoking  sister ;  she  had  a  great  admiration 
for  Oscar  the  collie ;  she  had  the  whitest  hand  in  the  world  as 
slic  offered  you  some  salad  at  the  small,  neat  table.  What  was 
she  doing  here — amidst  all  this  glaring  sham — before  all  these 
people?  '■'■Come  away  quickly  P'  his  heart  cried  to  her.  "'Quick 
— quick — lei  us  get  army  together  :  there  is  some  mistake — some 
illusion:  outside  you  will  breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  get  into  the 
reality  of  the  world  again  ;  and  you  will  ask  about  Oscar,  and 
young  Ogilvie :  and  one  might  hold  your  hand — your  real  warm 
hand — and  perha2)s  hold  it  tight,  and  7wt  give  it  up  to  any  otic 


17G  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

tvhatsoever  P  Ilis  own  hand  was  tremblincr  with  excitement. 
The  eagerness  of  deliglit  with  wliich  he  listened  to  every  word 
uttered  by  the  low-toned  and  gentle  voice  was  almost  painful  ; 
and  yet  he  knew  it  not.  lie  v/as  as  one  demented.  This  was 
Gertrude  White — speaking,  walking,  smiling,  a  fire  of  beauty  in 
her  clear  eyes ;  her  parted  lips  when  she  laughed  letting  the  brill- 
iant light  just  touch  for  an  instant  the  milk-white  teeth.  Tiiis 
was  no  pale  Rose  Leaf  at  all — no  dream  or  vision — but  the  actu- 
al laughing,  talking,  beautiful  woman,  who  had  more  than  ever  of 
that  strange  grace  and  witchery  about  her  that  had  fascinated 
Mm  when  first  he  saw  her.  She  was  so  near  that  he  could  have 
thrown  a  rose  to  her — a  red  POse,  full  blown  and  full  scented. 
He  forgave  the  theatre — or  rather  he  forgot  it — in  the  unimag- 
inable delight  of  being  so  near  to  her.  And  when  at  length  she 
left  the  stage,  he  had  no  jealousy  of  the  poor  people  who  remain- 
ed there  to  go  through  their  marionette  business.  He  hoped 
they  might  all  become  great  actors  and  actresses.  He  even 
thought  he  would  try  to  get  to  understand  the  story — seeing  lie 
should  have  nothinsc  else  to  do  until  Gertrude  White  came  back 


o 


agam. 


Now  Keith  Macleod  was  no  more  ignorant  or  innocent  than 
anybody  else;  but  there  was  one  social  misdemeanor  —  a  mere 
peccadillo,  let  us  say — that  was  quite  unintelligible  to  him.  Ho, 
could  not  understand  liow  a  man  could  go  liirting  after  a  married 
woman ;  and  still  less  could  he  understand  how  a  married  woman 
should,  instead  of  attending  to  her  children  and  her  house  and 
such  matters,  make  herself  ridiculous  by  aping  girlhood  and  pre- 
tending to  have  a  lover.  He  had  read  a  great  deal  about  this, 
and  he  was  told  it  was  common  ;  but  he  did  not  believe  it.  The 
same  authorities  assured  him  that  the  women  of  England  were 
drunkards  in  secret ;  he  did  not  believe  it.  The  same  authorities 
insisted  that  the  sole  notioil  of  marriage  that  occupied  the  head 
of  an  English  girl  of  our  own  day  was  as  to  how  she  should  sell 
her  charms  to  the  highest  bidder;  he  did  not  believe  that  either. 
And  indeed  he  argued  with  himself,  in  considering  to  what  ex- 
tent books  and  plays  could  be  trusted  in  such  matters,  that  in 
one  obvious  case  the  absurdity  of  these  allegations  was  proved. 
If  Franco  were  the  France  of  French  playwrights  and  novelists, 
the  whole  business  of  the  country  would  come  to  a  stand-still. 
If  it  was  the  sole  and  constant  accupation  of  every  adult  French-' 


IN    LONDON    AGAIN.  1V7 

man  to  run  after  liis  uciglibor's  wife,  liow  could  bridges  be  built, 
taxes  collected,  furtilk-utions  phuuicd  ?  Surely  a  Froucbinan  must 
sometimes  think,  if  only  by  accident,  of  something  other  than  his 
neighbor's  wife  ?  Maclcod  laughed  to  himself  in  the  solitude  of 
Castle  Dare,  and  contemptuously  flung  the  unfinished  paper-cov- 
ered novel  aside. 

But  what  was  his  surprise  and  indignation — his  shame,  even — 
on  finding  that  this  very  piece  in  which  Gertrude  White  was  act- 
ing was  all  about  a  jealous  husband,  and  a  gay  and  thoughtless 
v.'ife,  and  a  villain  who  did  not  at  all  silently  plot  her  ruin,  but 
frankly  confided  his  aspirations  to  a  mutual  friend,  and  rather 
sought  for  sympathy ;  while  she,  Gertrude  White  herself,  had, 
before  ail  these  people,  to  listen  to  advances  which,  in  her  inno- 
cence, she  was  not  supposed  to  understand.  As  the  play  pro- 
ceeded, his  brows  grew  darker  and  darker.  And  the  husband, 
Avho  ought  to  have  been  the  guardian  of  his  wife's  honor?  Well, 
the  husband  in  this  rather  poor  play  was  a  creation  that  is  com- 
mon in  modern  English  drama,  lie  represented  one  idea  at 
least  that  the  English  playwright  has  certainly  not  borrowed 
from  the  French  stage.  Moral  worth  is  best  indicated  by  a  sul- 
len demeanor.  The  man  who  has  a  pleasant  manner  is  danger- 
ous and  a  profligate;  the  virtuous  man  —  the  true-hearted  Eng- 
lishman— conducts  himself  as  a  boor,  and  proves  the  goodness  of 
his  nature  by  his  silence  and  his  sulks.  The  hero  of  this  trump- 
ery piece  was  of  this  familiar  type,  lie  saw  the  gay  fascinator 
coming  about  his  house ;  but  he  was  too  proud  and  dignified  to 
interfere.  He  knew  of  his  young  wife  becoming  the  by-word  of 
liis  friends ;  but  he  only  clasped  his  hands  on  his  forehead,  and 
sought  solitude,  and  scowled  as  a  man  of  virtue  should,  Mac- 
lcod had  paid  but  little  attention  to  stories  of  this  kind  when  he 
had  merely  read  them  ;  but  when  the  situation  was  visible — v;hen 
actual  people  were  before  him  —  the  whole  thing  looked  more 
real,  and  his  sympathies  became  active  enough.  How  was  it 
possible,  he  thought,  for  this  poor  dolt  to  fume  and  mutter,  and 
let  his  innocent  wife  go  her  own  way  alone  and  unprotected, 
when  there  was  a  door  in  the  room,  and  a  window  by  way  of  al- 
ternative? There  was  one  scene  in  which  the  faithless  friend 
and  the  young  wife  were  together  in  her  drawing-room.  He 
drew  nearer  to  her ;  he  spoke  softly  to  her ;  he  ventured  to  take 
her  hand.     And  while  he  v/as  looking  up  appealingly  to  her, 

8* 


178  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Maclcod  was  regarding  his  face.  lie  was  calculating  to  himself 
the  precise  spot  between  the  eyes  where  a  man's  knuckles  would 
most  effectually  tell ;  and  his  hand  was  clinched,  and  his  teeth 
set  hard.  There  was  a  look  on  his  face  which  would  have 
warned  any  gay  young  man  that  when  Macleod  should  marry,  his 
wife  would  need  no  second  champion. 

But  was  this  the  atmosphere  by  which  she  was  surrounded? 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  piece  was  proper  enough.  Virtue 
was  triumphant;  vice  compelled  to  sneak  ofE  discomfited.  The 
indignant  outburst  of  shame,  and  horror,  and  contempt  on  the 
part  of  the  young  wife,  v/hen  she  came  to  know  what  the  vil- 
lain's suave  intentions  really  meant,  gave  Miss  White  an  excellent 
opportunity  of  displaying  her  histrionic  gifts;  and  the  public  ap- 
plauded vehemently  ;  but  Macleod  had  no  pride  in  her  triumph. 
He  was  glad  wlien  the  piece  ended — when  the  honest -hearted 
Englishman  so  far  recovered  speech  as  to  declare  that  his  confi- 
dence in  his  wife  was  restored,  and  so  far  forgot  his  stolidity  of 
face  and  demeanor  as  to  point  out  to  the  villain  the  way  to  the 
door  instead  of  kicking  him  thither.  Macleod  breathed  more 
freely  when  he  knew  that  Gertrude  White  was  now  about  to  go 
away  to  the  shelter  and  quiet  of  her  own  home.  He  went  back 
to  his  rooms,  and  tried  to  forget  the  precise  circumstances  in 
which  ho  had  just  seen  her. 

But  not  to  forget  herself.  A  new  gladness  filled  his  heart 
when  he  thought  of  her — thought  of  her  not  now  as  a  dream  or 
a  vision,  but  as  the  living  and  breathino;  woman  whose  musical 
laugh  seemed  still  to  be  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  could  see  her 
plainly — the  face  all  charged  with  life  and  loveliness ;  the  clear 
bright  eyes  that  he  had  no  longer  any  fear  of  meeting;  the  sweet 
mouth  with  its  changing  smiles.  When  Major  Stuart  came 
home  that  night  he  noticed  a  most  marked  change  in  the  man- 
ner of  his  companion.  Macleod  was  excited,  eager,  talkative; 
full  of  high  spirits  and  friendliness ;  he  joked  his  friend  about 
his  playing  truant  from  his  wife.  He  was  anxious  to  know  all 
about  the  major's  adventures,  and  pressed  hira  to  have  but  one 
other  cigar,  and  vowed  that  he  would  take  him  on  the  following 
evening  to  the  only  place  in  London  where  a  good  dinner  could 
be  had.  There  was  gladness  in  his  eyes,  a  careless  satisfaction  in 
his  manner ;  he  was  ready  to  do  anything,  go  anywhere.  This 
was  more  like  tlic  Macleod  of  old.     Major  Stuart  came  to  the 


DECLAUATION.  179 

conclusion  that  the  atmospliere  of  London  had  had  a  very  good 
effect  on  his  friend's  spirits. 

When  Macleod  went  to  bed  that  night  there  were  wild  and 
glad  desires  and  resolves  in  his  brain  that  might  otherwise  have 
kept  him  awake  but  for  the  fatigue  he  had  lately  endured.  lie 
slept,  and  he  dreamed ;  and  the  figure  that  he  saw  in  his  dreams 
— though  she  was  distant,  somehow — had  a  look  of  tenderness 
in  her  eyes,  and  she  held  a  red  rose  in  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

DECLARATION. 

November  though  it  was,  next  morning  broke  brilliantly  over 
London.  There  was  a  fresh  west  wind  blowing;  there  v/as  a 
clear  sunshine  filling  the  thoroughfares ;  if  one  were  on  the  look- 
out for  picturesqueness  even  in  Bury  Street,  was  there  not  a  fine 
touch  of  color  where  the  softly  red  chimney-pots  rose  far  away 
into  the  blue?  It  was  not  possible  to  have  always  around  one 
the  splendor  of  the  northern  sea. 

And  Macleod  would  not  listen  to  a  word  his  friend  had  to  say 
concerning  the  important  business  that  had  brought  them  both 
to  London. 

"  To-night,  man — to-night — v/e  will  arrange  it  all  to-night,"  he 
would  say,  and  there  was  a  nervous  excitement  about  his  manner 
for  which  the  major  could  not  at  all  accoimt. 

"  Sha'n't  I  see  you  till  the  evening,  then  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  Macleod  said,  looking  anxiously  out  of  the  window,  as 
if  he  feared  some  thunder-storm  would  suddenly  shut  out  the 
clear  light  of  this  beautiful  morning.  "  I  don't  know — perhaps 
I  may  be  back  before — but  at  any  rate  we  meet  at  seven.  You 
will  remember — seven  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it,"  his  companion  said,  for 
he  had  been  told  about  fivc-and-thirty  times. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  Macleod  left  the  house. 
There  was  a  grateful  freshness  aBout  the  morning  even  here  in 
the  middle  of  London.  People  looked  cheerful ;  Piccadilly  was 
thronged  with  idlers  come  out  to  enjoy  the  sunshine ;  there  was 
still  a  leaf  or  two  fluttering  on  the  trees  in  the  squares.     Why 


180  MACLEOD    OF    DAHE. 

sliould  tlu3  man  go  eagerly  tearing  away  nortliward  in  a  liansora 
— witli  an  anxious  and  absorbed  look  on  bis  face — wben  every- 
body seemed  inclined  to  isauntcr  leisurely  along,  breathing  the 
sweet  Avind,  and  feeling  tb.e  sunlight  on  their  check? 

It  was  scarcely  half-past  eleven  when  Macleod  got  out  of  the 
liansom,  and  opened  a  small  gate,  and  walked  up  to  the  door  of 
a  certain  house.  lie  was  afraid  she  had  already  gone.  lie  was 
afraid  slie  might  resent  liis  calling  at  so  unusual  an  hour.  lie 
Vv'as  afraid — of  a  thousand  things.  And  when  at  last  the  trim 
uiaid-servant  told  him  that  Miss  "White  Avas  within,  and  asked  him 
to  step  into  the  drawing-room,  it  was  almost  as  one  in  a  dream 
that  bo  followed  her.  As  one  in  a  dream,  truly ;  but  nevertheless 
he  saw  every  object  around  him  with  a  marvellous  vividness. 
Next  day  lie  could  recollect  every  feature  of  the  room — the  emp- 
ty fireplace,  the  black-framed  mirror,  the  Chinese  fans,  the  small 
cabinets  with  their  shelves  of  blue  and  white,  and  the  large  open 
book  on  the  table,  with  a  bit  of  tartan  lying  on  it.  These  things 
seemed  to  impress  themselves  on  his  eyesight  involuntarily ;  for 
he  was  in  reality  intently  listening  for  a  soft  foot-fall  ontside  the 
door.  He  went  forwai'd  to  this  open  book.  It  was  a  volume 
of  a  work  on  the  Highland  clans — a  large  and  expensive  work 
that  was  not  likely  to  belong  to  Mr.  White.  And  this  colored 
figure  ?  It  was  the  representative  of  the  Clan  Macleod :  and  this 
bit  of  cloth  that  lay  on  the  open  book  Avas  of  the  Macleod  tartan. 
He  withdrew  quickly,  as  though  he  liad  stumbled  on  some  dire 
secret.  He  went  to  the  window.  He  saw  only  leafless  trees 
now,  and  withered  flowers;  with  the  clear  sunshine  touching  the 
sides  of  houses  and  walls  that  had  in  the  summer  months  been 
quite  invisible. 

There  was  a  slight  noise  behind  him  ;  he  turned,  and  all  the 
room  seemed  filled  with  a  splendor  of  light  and  of  life  as  she  ad- 
vanced to  him — the  clear,  beautiful  eyes  full  of  gladness,  the  lips 
smiling,  the  hand  frankly  extended.  And  of  a  sudden  Iiis  heart 
sank.     Was  it  indeed  of  her, 

"  The  glory  of  life,  the  beauty  of  the  world," 

that  he  had  dared  to  dream  wild  and  impossible  dreams?  He 
had  set  out  that  morning  with  a  certain  masterful  sense  that  he 
would  face  his  fate.  He  had  "  taken  the  world  for  his  pillow," 
as  the  Gaelic  stories  say.     But  at  this  sudden  revelation  of  the 


DECLARATION.  181 

incomparable  grace,  and  self-possession,  and  high  loveliness  of 
this  beautiful  creature,  all  his  courngc  and  hopes  fled  instantl}', 
and  he  could  only  stammer  out  excuses  for  his  calling  so  early. 
lie  was  eagerly  trying  to  make  himself  out  an  ordinary  visitor. 
lie  explained  that  he  did  not  know  but  that  she  might  be  going 
to  the  theatre  during  the  day.  He  was  in  Lor-don  for  a  short 
time  on  business.     It  was  an  unconscionable  hour. 

"  But  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !"  she  said,  with  a  perfect  sweet- 
ness, and  her  eyes  said  more  than  her  words.  "  I  should  have 
been  really  vexed  if  I  had  heard  you  had  passed  through  Lon- 
don without  calling  on  us.     Won't  you  sit  down?" 

As  he  sat  down,  she  turned  for  a  second,  and  v/ithout  any  em- 
barrassment shut  the  big  book  that  had  been  lying  open  on  the 
table. 

"It  is  very  beautiful  weather,"  she  remarked  —  there  was  no 
tremor  about  her  fingers,  at  all  events,  as  she  made  secure  the 
brooch  that  fastened  the  simple  morning-dress  at  the  neck,  "  only 
it  seems  a  pity  to  throw  away  such  beautiful  sunshine  on  wither- 
ed gardens  and  bare  trees.  We  have  some  fine  chrysanthemums, 
though ;  but  I  confess  I  don't  like  chrysanthemums  myself. 
They  come  at  a  wrong  time.  They  look  unnatural.  They  only 
remind  one  of  what  is  gone.  If  we  are  to  have  winter,  Ave  ought 
to  have  it  out-and-out.  The  chrysanthemums  always  seem  to  me 
as  if  they  were  making  a  pretence — trying  to  make  you  believe 
that  there  was  still  some  life  left  in  the  dead  garden." 

It  was  very  pretty  talk,  all  this  about  chrysanthemums,  uttered 
in  the  low-toned,  and  gentle,  and  musical  voice;  but  somehow 
there  was  a  burning  impatience  in  his  heart,  and  a  bitter  sense  of 
hopelessness,  and  he  felt  as  though  he  would  cry  out  in  his  de- 
spair. IIow  could  he  sit  there  and  listen  to  talk  about  chrysan- 
themums? His  hands  were  tightly  clasped  together;  his  heart 
was  throbbing  quickly ;  there  was  a  humming  in  his  ears,  as 
tliough  something  there  refused  to  hear  about  chrysanthemums. 

"  I — I  saw  you  at  the  theatre  last  night,"  said  he. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  abruptness  of  the  remark  that  caused  the 
quick  blush.  She  lowered  her  eyes.  But  all  the  same  she  said, 
with  perfect  self-possession, 

"  Did  you  like  the  piece  ?" 

And  he,  too :  was  he  not  determined  to  play  the  part  of  an 
ordinary  visitor  ? 


182  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  judge,"  said  lie,  lightly.  "  The  drawing- 
room  scene  is  very  pretty.  It  is  very  like  a  drawing-room.  I 
suppose  these  are  real  curtains,  and  real  pictures  V 

"Oh  yes,  it  is  all  real  furniture,"  said  she. 

Thereafter,  for  a  second,  blank  silence.  Neither  dared  to  touch 
that  deeper  stage  question  that  lay  next  their  hearts.  But  when 
Keith  Macleod,  in  many  a  word  of  timid  suggestion,  and  in  the 
jesting  letter  he  sent  her  from  Castle  Dare,  had  ventured  upon  that 
dangerous  ground,  it  was  not  to  talk  about  the  real  furniture  of  a 
staoe  drawing-room.  However,  was  not  this  an  ordinary  morn- 
ing call?  His  manner — his  speech — everything  said  so  but  the 
tightly-clasped  hands,  and  perhaps  too  a  certain  intensity  of  look 
in  the  eyes,  which  seemed  anxious  and  constrained. 

"  Papa,  at  least,  is  proud  of  our  chrysanthemums,"  said  Miss 
White,  quickly  getting  away  from  the  stage  question.  "  He  is 
in  the  garden  now.  Will  you  go  out  and  see  him?  I  am  sorry 
Carry  has  gone  to  school." 

She  rose.  He  rose  also,  and  he  was  about  to  hft  his  hat  from 
the  table,  when  he  suddenly  turned  to  her. 

"A  drowning  man  will  cry  out;  how  can  you  prevent  his  cry- 
ing out  ?" 

She  was  startled  by  the  change  in  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and 
still  more  by  the  almost  haggard  look  of  pain  and  entreaty  in  his 
eyes.  He  seized  her  hand ;  she  would  have  withdrawn  it,  but 
she  could  not. 

"  You  will  listen.  It  is  no  harm  to  you.  I  must  speak  now, 
or  I  will  die,"  said  he,  quite  wildly  ;  "and  if  you  think  I  am  mad, 
perhaps  you  are  right,  but  people  have  pity  for  a  madman.  Do 
you  know  why  I  have  come  to  London  ?  It  is  to  see  you.  I 
could  bear  it  no  longer — the  fire  that  was  burning  and  killing 
me.  Oh,  it  is  no  use  my  saying  that  it  is  love  for  you — I  do  not 
know  what  it  is — but  only  that  I  must  tell  you,  and  you  cannot 
be  angry  with  me — you  can  only  pity  me  and  go  away.  That  is 
it — it  is  nothing  to  you — you  can  go  away." 

She  burst  into  tears,  and  snatched  her  hand  from  him,  and 
with  both  hands  covered  her  face. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "  is  it  pain  to  you  that  I  should  tell  you  of 
this  madness  ?  But  you  will  forgive  me — and  you  will  forget  it 
— and  it  will  not  pain  you  to-morrow  or  any  other  day.  Surely 
you  are  not  to  blame !     Do  you  remember  the  days  when  we  be- 


DECLARATION.  183 

came  friends?  it  seems  a  long  time  ago,  but  they  were  beautiful 
days,  and  you  were  very  kind  to  me,  and  T  was  glad  I  had  come 
to  London  to  make  so  kind  a  friend.  And  it  was  no  fault  of 
yours  that  I  went  away  with  that  sickness  of  the  heart ;  and  how- 
could  you  know  about  the  burning  fire,  and  the  feeling  that  if  I 
did  not  see  you  I  might  as  well  be  dead  ?  And  I  am  come — and 
I  sec  you — and  now  I  know  no  more  what  is  to  happen  when  I 
go  away.  And  I  will  call  you  Gertrude  for  once  only.  Ger- 
trude, sit  down  now — for  a  moment  or  two — and  do  not  grieve 
any  more  over  what  is  only  a  misfortune.  I  want  to  tell  you. 
After  I  have  spoken,  I  will  go  away,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of 
the  trouble." 

She  did  sit  dov/n ;  her  hands  v.erc  clasped  in  piteous  despair ; 
he  saw  the  tear-drops  on  the  long,  beautiful  lashes. 

"And  if  the  drowning  man  cries?"  said  he.  "It  is  only  a 
breath.  The  waves  go  over  him,  and  the  world  is  at  peace. 
And  oh  !  do  you  know  that  I  have  taken  a  strange  fancy  of  late — 
But  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  that ;  you  may  hear  of  it  after- 
ward ;  you  will  understand,  and  know  you  have  no  blame,  and 
there  is  an  end  of  trouble.  It  is  quite  strange  what  fancies  get 
into  one's  head  when  one  is — sick — heart-sick.  Do  you  know 
what  I  thought  this  morning?  Will  you  believe  it?  Will  you 
let  the  drowning  man  cry  out  in  his  madness  ?  Why,  I  said  to 
myself, '  Up  now,  and  have  courage !  Up  now,  and  be  brave,  and 
win  a  bride  as  they  used  to  do  in  the  old  stories.'  And  it  was 
you — it  was  you — my  madness  thought  of.  '  You  will  tell  her,' 
I  said  to  myself,  '  of  all  the  love  and  the  worship  you  have  for 
her,  and  your  thinking  of  her  by  day  and  by  night ;  and  she  is 
a  woman,  and  she  will  have  pity.  And  then  in  her  surprise — 
why — '  But  then  you  came  into  the  room  —  it  is  only  a  little 
while  ago — but  it  seems  for  ever  and  ever  away  now — and  I  have 
only  pained  you — " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet ;  her  face  white,  her  lips  proud  and  de- 
termined. And  for  a  second  she  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders ; 
and  the  wet,  full,  piteous  eyes  met  his.  But  as  rapidly  she  with- 
drew them  —  almost  shuddering  —  and  turned  away;  and  her 
hands  were  apart,  each  clasped,  and  she  bowed  her  head.  Ger- 
trude White  had  never  acted  like  that  on  any  stage. 

And  as  for  him,  he  stood  absolutely  dazed  for  a  moment,  not 
daring  to  think  what  that  involuntary  action  might  mean.     He 


184  MACLEOD    OF    UAUE. 

stcjipcd  forward,  witli  a  pale  face  and  a  bewildered  air,  and  caug'it 
her  hand.  Her  face  she  sheltered  with  the  other,  and  she  was 
sobbing  bitterly. 

"  Gertrnde,"  he  said,  "  what  is  it  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

The  broken  voice  answered,  though  her  face  was  turned 
aside, 

"It  is  I  who  am  miserable." 

"You  who  are  miserable?" 

She  turned  and  looked  fair  into  his  face,  with  her  eyes  all  wet, 
and  beautiful,  and  piteous. 

"Can't  you  see?  Don't  you  understand?"  she  said.  "Oh, 
my  good  friend !  of  all  the  men  in  the  world,  you  are  the  very 
last  I  would  bring  trouble  to.  And  I  cannot  be  a  hypocrite  with 
yon.  I  feared  something  of  this ;  and  now  the  misery  is  that  I 
cannot  say  to  you, '  Here,  take  my  hand.  It  is  yours.  You  have 
won  your  bride.'  I  cannot  do  it.  If  we  were  both  differently 
situated,  it  might  be  otherwise — " 

"  It  might  be  otherwise !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  won- 
der. "  Gertrude,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Situated  ?  Is  it  only  that? 
Look  me  in  the  face,  now,  and  as  you  are  a  true  woman  tell  me — 
if  we  were  both  free  from  all  situation — if  there  were  no  difficul- 
ties— nothing  to  be  thought  of — could  you  give  yourself  to  me? 
Would  you  really  become  my  wife — you  who  have  all  the  world 
flattering  vou  ?" 

She  dared  not  look  him  in  the  face.  There  was  something 
about  the  vehemence  of  his  manner  that  almost  terrified  her. 
But  she  answered  bravely,  in  the  sweet,  low,  trembling  voice,  and 
with  downcast  eyes, 

"  If  I  were  to  become  the  wife  of  any  one,  it  is  your  wife  I 
would  like  to  be ;  and  I  have  thought  of  it.  Oh,  I  cannot  be  a 
hypocrite  with  you  when  I  see  the  misery  I  have  brought  yoa ! 
And  I  have  thought  of  giving  up  all  my  present  life,  and  all  the 
wishes  and  dreams  I  have  cherished,  and  going  away  and  living 
the  simple  life  of  a  woman.  And  under  whose  guidance  would 
I  try  that  rather  than  yours?  You  made  me  think.  But  it  is 
all  a  dream— a  fancy.  It  is  impossible.  It  would  only  bring 
misery  to  you  and  to  me — " 

"  But  why — but  why  ?"  he  eagerly  exclaimed ;  and  there  was 
a  new  light  in  his  face.  "  Gertrude,  if  you  can  say  so  much,  why 
not  say  all?     What  arc  obstacles?     There  can  be  none  if  you 


DECLARATIOX.  185 

have  the  fii^tietli  part  of  tlio  love  for  mc  that  I  have  for  you ! 
Obstacles !"     And  lie  lauglied  with  a  strange  laugh. 

She  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"And  would  it  be  so  great  a  happiness  for  you?  That  would 
make  up  for  all  the  trouble  I  have  brought  you  ?"  she  said,  wist- 
fully ;  and  his  answer  was  to  take  both  her  hands  in  his,  and 
there  was  such  a  joy  in  his  heart  that  he  could  not  speak  at  all. 
But  she  only  shook  her  head  somewhat  sadly,  and  withdrew  her 
liands,  and  sat  down  affiiin  bv  the  table. 

"  It  is  wrong  of  mc  even  to  think  of  it,"  she  said.  "  To-day  I 
might  say  'yes,'  and  to-morrow?  You  might  inspire  )ne  with 
courage  now ;  and  afterward — I  should  only  bring  you  further 
pain.  I  do  not  know  myself.  I  could  not  be  sure  of  myself. 
How  could  I  dare  drag^  vou  into  such  a  terrible  risk  ?  It  is  bet- 
tcr  as  it  is.  The  pain  you  are  sallering  will  go.  You  will  come 
to  call  me  your  friend ;  and  you  will  thank  me  that  I  refused. 
Perhaps  I  shall  suffer  a  little  too,"  she  added,  and  once  more  she 
rather  timidly  looked  up  into  his  face.  "  You  do  not  know  the 
fascination  of  seeing  your  scheme  of  life,  that  you  have  been 
drean:!ing  about,  just  suddenly  put  before  you  for  acceptance; 
and  you  want  all  your  common-sense  to  hold  back.  But  I  know 
it  will  be  better — better  for  both  of  us.     You  must  believe  me." 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,  and  I  will  not  believe  you,"  said  he, 
with  a  proud  light  in  his  eyes ;  "  and  now  you  have  said  so  much 
I  am  not  going  to  take  any  refusal  at  all.  Not  now.  Gertrude, 
I  have  courage  for  both  of  us ;  when  you  are  timid,  you  will  take 
my  hand.  Say  it,  then !  A  word  only  !  You  have  already  said 
all  but  that !" 

He  seemed  scarcely  the  same  man  Avho  had  appealed  to  her 
with  the  wild  eyes  and  the  haggard  face.  His  look  was  radiant 
and  proud.  He  spoke  with  a  firm  voice ;  and  yet  there  was 
a  great  tenderness  in  his  tone. 

"  I  am  s*ire  you  love  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  will  see,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  firm  confidence. 

"And  I  am  not  going  to  requite  your  love  ill.  You  are  too 
vehement.  You  think  of  nothing  but  the  one  end  to  it  all.  But 
I  am  a  woman,  and  women  are  taught  to  be  patient.  Now  you 
must  let  mc  think  about  all  you  have  said." 

"And  you  do  not  quite  refuse?"  said  he. 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment  or  two. 


18G  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  I  must  think  for  you  as  well  as  for  myself,"  slic  said,  in  a 
scarcely  audible  voice.  "Give  me  time.  Give  me  till  the  end 
of  the  week." 

"At  this  hour  I  will  come." 

"And  you  v.'ill  believe  I  have  decided  for  the  best — that  I  have 
tried  hard  to  be  fair  to  you  as  well  as  myself  ?" 

"  I  know  you  are  too  true  a  woman  for  anything  else,"  he  said ; 
and  then  he  added,  "Ah,  Avell,  now,  you  have  had  enough  misery 
for  one  morning ;  you  must  dry  your  eyes  now,  and  we  will  go 
out  into  the  garden ;  and  if  I  am  not  to  say  anything  of  all  my 
gratitude  to  you — why  ?  Because  I  hope  there  will  be  many  a 
year  to  do  that  in,  my  angel  of  goodness  1" 

She  went  to  fetch  a  light  shawl  and  a  liat ;  he  kept  turning 
over  the  things  on  the  table,  his  fingers  trembling,  his  eyes  see- 
ing nothing.  If  they  did  see  anything,  it  was  a  vision  of  the 
brown  moors  near  Castle  Dare,  and  a  beautiful  creature,  clad 
all  in  cream-color  and  scarlet,  drawing  near  the  great  gray  stone 
house. 

She  came  into  the  room  again  ;  joy  leaped  to  his  eyes. 

"  Will  you  follow  me  ?" 

There  was  a  strangely  subdued  air  about  her  manner  as  she 
led  him  to  where  her  father  was ;  perhaps  she  was  rather  tired 
after  the  varied  emotions  she  had  experienced  ;  perhaps  she  was 
still  anxious.  He  was  not  anxious.  It  was  in  a  glad  way  that 
he  addressed  the  old  gentleman  who  stood  there  with  a  spade 
in  his  hand. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  beautiful  garden,"  Macleod  said,  looking  round 
on  the  withered  leaves  and  damp  soil ;  "  no  wonder  you  look  af- 
ter it  yourself." 

"  I  am  not  gardening,"  the  old  man  said,  peevishly.  "  I  have 
been  putting  a  knife  in  the  ground — burying  the  hatchet,  you 
might  call  it.  Fancy !  A  man  sees  an  old  hunting-knife  in  a 
shop  at  Gloucester  —  a  hunting-knife  of  the  time  of  Charles  I., 
with  a  beautifully  carved  ivory  handle ;  and  he  thinks  he  will 
make  a  present  of  it  to  me.  What  does  he  do  but  go  and  have 
it  ground,  and  sharpened,  and  polished  until  it  looks  like  some- 
thing sent  from  Sheffield  the  day  before  yesterday  !" 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  pleased,  pappy,  you  got  it  at  all,"  said 
Gertrude  White ;  but  she  was  looking  elsewhere,  and  rather  ab- 
sently too. 


A    RED    ROSE.  187 

"And  so  you  have  buried  it  to  restore  the  tone?" 

"  I  have,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  marching  off  with  the  shovel 
to  a  sort  of  out-house. 

Macleod  speedily  took  his  leave. 

"  Saturday  next  at  noon,"  said  he  to  her,  with  no  timiditv  in 
his  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  more  gently,  and  with  downcast  eyes. 

He  walked  away  from  the  house — he  knew  not  whither.  He 
saw  nothing  around  him.  He  walked  hard,  sometimes  talking 
to  himself.  In  the  afternoon  he  found  himself  in  a  village  in 
Berkshire,  close  by  which,  fortunately,  there  was  a  railway  sta- 
tion ;  and  he  had  just  time  to  get  back  to  keep  his  appointment 
with  Major  Stuart. 

They  sat  down  to  dinner. 

"  Come  now,  Macleod,  tell  me  where  you  have  been  all  day," 
said  the  rosy -faced  soldier,  carefully  tucking  his  napkin  under 
his  chin. 

Macleod  burst  out  laughing. 

"Another  day — another  day,  Stuart,  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it.     It  is  the  most  ridiculous  story  you  ever  heard  in  your  life !" 

It  was  a  strange  sort  of  laughing,  for  there  were  tears  in  the 
younger  man's  eyes.  But  Major  Stuart  was  too  busy  to  notice  ; 
and  presently  they  began  to  talk  about  the  real  and  serious  ob- 
ject of  their  expedition  to  London. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    RED    ROSE. 

From  nervous  and  unreasoning^  dread  to  overweening  and  ex- 
travagant confidence  there  was  but  a  single  bound.  After  the 
timid^  confession  she  had  made,  how  could  he  have  any  further 
fear?  He  knew  now  the  answer  she  must  certainly  give  him. 
What  but  the  one  word  "  yes  " — musical  as  the  sound  of  sum- 
mer seas — could  fitly  close  and  atone  for  all  that  long  period  of 
doubt  and  despair?  And  would  she  raurranr  it  with  the  low, 
sweet  voice,  or  only  look  it  with  the  clear  and  lambent  eyes? 
Once  uttered,  anyhow,  surely  the  glad  message  would  instantly 
wing  its  flight  away  to  the  far  North  ;  and  Colonsay  would  hear ; 


188  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

and  the  green  shores  of  Ulva  would  laugh ;  and  through  ail  the 
wild  dashiuir  and  roarino:  of  the  seas  there  would  be  a  soft  ring- 
ing  as  of  wedding -bells.  The  Gonietra  men  will  have  a  good 
glass  that  night ;  and  who  v/ill  take  the  news  to  distant  Fladda 
and  rouse  the  lonely  Dutchman  from  his  winter  sleep  ?  There  is 
a  bride  coming  to  Castle  Dare  ! 

AVlien  Norman  Ogilvie  had  even  mentioned  marriage,  Macleod 
liatl  merely  shaken  his  head  and  turned  away.  There  was  no 
issue  that  way  from  the  wilderness  of  pain  and  trouble  into 
which  he  had  strayed.  She  was  already  wedded — to  that  cruel 
art  that  was  crushing  the  woman  within  her.  Her  ways  of  life 
and  his  were  separated  as  though  by  unknown  oceans.  And 
Low  was  it  possible  that  so  beautiful  a  woman — surrounded  by 
people  who  petted  and  flattered  her  —  should  not  already  have 
her  heart  engaged  ?  Even  if  she  were  free,  how  could  she  have 
bestowed  a  thought  on  him — a  passing  stranger — a  summer  vis- 
itor— tlie  acquaintance  of  an  hour? 

But  no  sooner  had  Gertrude  AVhite,  to  his  sudden  wonder,  and 
joy,  and  gratitude,  n:iade  that  stammering  confession,  than  the 
impetuosity  of  his  passion  leaped  at  once  to  the  goal,  lie  would 
not  hear  of  any  obstacles.  He  would  not  look  at  them.  If  she 
would  but  take  his  hand,  he  v/ould  lead  her  and  guard  her,  and 
all  would  go  well.  And  it  was  to  this  eifect  that  he  wrote  to 
lier  day  after  day,  pouring  out  all  the  confidences  of  his  heart  to 
her,  appealing  to  her,  striving  to  convey  to  her  something  of  his 
own  high  courage  and  hope.  Strictly  speaking,  perhaps,  it  was 
not  quite  fair  that  he  should  thus  have  disturbed  the  calm  of  her 
deliberation.  Had  he  not  given  her  till  the  end  of  the  week  to 
come  to  a  decision?  But  when,  in  his  eagerness,  he  thought  of 
some  further  reason,  some  furthpr  appe^il,  how  could  he  remain 
silent?  With  the  prize  so  near,  he  could  not  let  it  slip  from 
liis  grasp  through  the  consideration  of  niceties  of  conduct.  By 
rights  he  ought  to  have  gone  up  to'  Mr.  AVhite  and  begged  for 
permission  to  pay  his  addresses  to  the  old  gentleman's  daughter. 
He  forgot  all  about  that.  He  forgot  that  Mr.  AVhite  was  in  ex- 
istence. All  liis  thinking  from  morning  till  night — and  through 
much  of  the  night  too — was  directed  on  her  answer — the  one 
small  word  filled  with  a  Avhole  world ful  of  light  and  joy. 

"  If  you  will  only  say  that  one  little  woi'd,"  he  wrote  to  her, 
**  then  eNTrvthincf  else  becomes  a  mere  trifle.     If  there  arc-  ob- 


A    RED    ROSE.  189 

staclcs,  and  troubles,  and  what  not,  wc  will  meet  them  one  by 
one,  and  dispose  of  them.  There  can  be  no  obstacles,  if  we  are 
of  one  mind;  and  we  shall  be  of  one  mind  sure  enough,  if  you 
will  say  you  will  become  my  wife ;  for  there  is  nothing  I  will 
not  consent  to ;  and  I  shall  only  be  too  glad  to  have  opportuni- 
ties of  showing  my  great  gratitude  to  you  for  the  sacrifice  you 
must  make.  I  speak  of  it  as  a  sacrifice ;  but  I  do  not  believe  it 
is  one — whatever  you  may  think  now — and  whatever  natural  re- 
gret you  may  feel — you  will  grow  to  feel  there  was  no  evil  done 
you  when  you  were  drawn  away  from  the  life  that  now  surrounds 
you.  And  if  you  were  to  say  '  I  will  become  your  wife  only  on 
one  condition  —  that  I  am  not  asked  to  abandon  my  career  as 
au  actress,'  still  I  would  say  '  Become  my  wife.'  Surely  matters 
of  arrangement  are  mere  trifles — after  you  have  given  me  your 
promise.  And  when  you  have  placed  your  hand  in  mine  (and 
the  motto  of  the  Macleods  is  Hold  Fast),  we  can  study  con- 
ditions, and  obstacles,  and  the  other  nonsense  that  our  friends 
are  sure  to  suggest,  at  our  leisure.  I  think  I  already  hear  you 
say  '  Yes ;'  I  listen  and  listen,  until  I  almost  hear  your  voice. 
And  if  it  is  to  be  '  Yes,'  will  you  wear  a  red  rose  in  your  dress 
on  Saturday ?  I  shall  see  that  before  you  speak.  I  v.ill  know 
wliat  your  message  is,  even  if  there  are  people  about.  One  red 
rose  only." 

"  Macleod,"  said  Major  Stuart  to  him,  "  did  you  come  to  Lon- 
don to  write  love-letters  ?" 

"Love-letters  !"  he  said,  angrily  ;  but  then  he  laughed.  "And 
what  did  you  come  to  London  for?" 

"  On  a  highly  philanthropic  errand,"  said  the  other,  gravely, 
"  which  I  hope  to  see  fulfilled  to-morrov.'.  And  if  we  have  a 
day  or  two  to  spare,  that  is  well  enougli,  for  one  cannot  be  al- 
ways at  work ;  but  I  did  not  expect  to  take  a  holiday  in  the 
company  of  a  man  Avho  spends  three -fourths  of  the  day  at  a 
WTiting-desk." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Macleod,  though  there  was  some  tell-tale 
color  in  his  face.  "  All  the  writing  I  have  done  to-day  would 
not  fill  up  twenty  minutes.  And  if  I  am  a  dull  companion,  is 
not  Norman  Ogilvie  coming  to  dinner  to-night  to  amuse  you?" 

While  thc}^  were  speaking,  a  servant  brought  in  a  card. 

"Ask  the  gentleman  to  come  up,"  Macleod  said,  and  then  ho 
turned  to  his  companion.     "  What  an  odd  thing !     I  was  speak- 


190  MACLEOD    OF    DAIIE. 

ing  to  yon  a  inimite  n^-o  about  that  drag  accident.     And  here  is 
Beau  regard  him  sch". " 

The  tall,  rough-visaged  man — stooping  slightly  as  though  he 
tliought  the  door-way  was  a  trifle  low — came  forward  and  shook 
hands  with  Macleod,  and  was  understood  to  inquire  about  his 
health,  though  what  he  literally  said  was,  "  Ilawya,  Macleod, 
liawya  ?" 

"I  heard  you  were  in  town  from  Paulton  —  you  remember 
Paulton,  who  dined  with  you  at  Riclimond,  lie  saw  you  in  a 
hansom  yesterday ;  and  I  took  my  chance  of  finding  you  in  your 
old  quarters.     What  are  you  doing  in  London  ?" 

Macleod  briefly  explained. 

"And  you?"  he  asked,  "  what  has  brought  you  to  London  ?  I 
thought  you  and  Lady  Beauregard  were  in  L-eland." 

"  We  have  just  come  over,  and  go  down  to  Weatherill  to-mor- 
row. Won't  you  come  down  and  shoot  a  pheasant  or  two  be- 
fore you  return  to  the  Highlands?" 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,"  Macleod  said,  hesitatingly,  "  my  friend  and 
I — by-the-way,  let  me  introduce  you — Lord  Beauregard,  Major 
Stuart — the  fact  is,  we  ought  to  go  back  directly  after  we  have 
settled  this  business." 

"  But  a  day  or  two  v/on't  matter.  Now,  let  me  sec.  Plymley 
comes  to  us  on  Monday  next,  I  think.  We  could  get  up  a  party 
for  you  on  the  Tuesday ;  and  if  your  friend  will  come  with  you, 
we  shall  be  six  guns,  which  I  always  think  the  best  number." 

The  gallant  major  showed  no  hesitation  Avhatever.  The  chance 
of  blazing  away  at  a  whole  atmosphereful  of  pheasants — for  so 
lie  construed  the  invitation — did  not  often  come  in  his  way. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  a  day  or  two  won't  make  any  difference," 
said  he,  quickly.  "  In  any  case  we  were  not  thinking  of  going 
till  Monday,  and  that  would  only  mean  an  extra  day." 

"  Very  well,"  Macleod  said. 

"  Then  you  will  come  down  to  dinner  on  the  Monday  evening. 
I  will  see  if  there  is  no  alteration  in  the  trains,  and  drop  you  a 
note  with  full  instructions.     Is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

"  It  is." 

"All  right.     I  must  be  off  now.     Good-bye." 

Major  Stuart  jumped  to  his  feet  with  great  alacrity,  and  warm- 
ly shook  hands  with  the  departing  stranger.  Then,  when  the 
door  was   shut,  he  went  through  a  pantomimic   expression  of 


A    RED    UOSK.  lUl 

bringing  down  innumerable  pheasants  from  every  corner  of  tlie 
ceiling — witb  an  occasional  aim  at  the  floor,  where  an  imaginary 
hare  was  scurrying  by. 

"  Macleod,  Macleod,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  trump.  You  may  go 
on  writing  love-letters  from  now  till  next  Monday  afternoon.  I 
suppose  we  shall  have  a  good  dinner,  too  ?" 

"  Beauregard  is  said  to  have  the  best  chef  in  London ;  and  I 
don't  suppose  they  would  leave  so  important  a  person  in  Ireland." 

"You  have  my  gratitude,  Macleod — eternal,  sincere,  unbound- 
ed," the  major  said,  seriously. 

*'  But  it  is  not  I  who  am  asking  you  to  go  and  massacre  a  lot 
of  pheasants,"  said  ]\Iacleod ;  and  he  spoke  rather  absently,  for 
he  was  thinking  of  tlie  probable  mood  in  which  he  would  go 
down  to  AVeatherill.  One  of  a  generous  gladness  and  joy,  the 
outward  expression  of  an  eager  and  secret  happiness  to  be  known 
by  none  ?  Or  what  if  there  were  no  red  rose  at  all  on  her  bo- 
som when  she  advanced  to  meet  him  with  sad  eyes  ? 

They  went  down  into  Essex  next  day.  Major  Stuart  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  his  companion  talked  not  so  much  about  the 
price  of  machines  for  drying  saturated  crops  as  about  the  conject- 
ural cost  of  living  in  the  various  houses  they  saw  from  afar,  set 
amidst  the  leafless  trees  of  November. 

"You  don't  think  of  coming  to  live  in  England,  do  you?"  said 
he. 

"  No — at  least,  not  at  present,"  Macleod  said.  "  Of  course,  one 
never  knows  what  may  turn  up.  I  don't  propose  to  live  at  Dare 
all  ray  life." 

"Your  wife  might  want  to  live  in  England,"  the  major  said, 
coolly. 

Macleod  started  and  stared. 

"  You  have  been  writing  a  good  many  letters  of  late,"  said  his 
companion. 

"And  is  that  all  ?"  said  Macleod,  answering  him  in  the  Gaelic. 
"You  know  the  proverb — Tossing  the  head  tvill  not  make  the 
boat  row.     I  am  not  married  yet." 

The  result  of  this  journey  was,  that  they  agreed  to  purchase 
one  of  the  machines  for  transference  to  the  rainy  regions  of 
Mull ;  and  then  they  returned  to  London.  This  was  on  Wednes- 
day. Major  Stuart  considered  they  had  a  few  days  to  idle  by 
before  the  battue ;  Macleod  was  only  excitedly  aware  that  Thurs- 


102  MACLEOD    OF    UAKE. 

day  and  Friday — two  sliovt  November  days — came  between  him 
and  that  decision  whicli  he  regarded  with  an  anxious  joy. 

The  two  days  went  by  in  a  sort  of  dream,  A  pale  fog  hung 
over  London ;  and  as  he  wandered  about  he  saw  the  tall  houses 
rise  faintly  blue  into  the  gray  mist;  and  the  great  coffee-colored 
river,  flashed  with  recent  rains,  rolled  down  between  the  pale  em- 
bankments;  and  the  golden -red  globe  of  the  sun,  occasionally 
becoming  visible  through  the  mottled  clouds,  sent  a  ray  of  fire 
here  and  there  on  some  window-pane  or  lamp. 

In  the  course  of  his  devious  wanderings — for  he  mostly  went 
about  alone — he  made  his  v/ay,  with  great  trouble  and  perplexity, 
to  the  court  in  which  the  mother  of  Johnny  Wickes  lived ;  and 
he  betrayed  no  shame  at  all  in  confronting  the  poor  woman — 
half  starved,  and  pale,  and  emaciated  as  slie  was — whose  child  he 
had  stolen.  It  was  in  a  tone  of  .quite  gratuitous  pleasantry  that 
he  described  to  her  how  the  small  lad  was  growing  brown  and 
fat;  and  he  had  the  audacity  to  declare  to  her  that  as  he  pro- 
posed to  pay  the  boy  the  sum  of  one  sliilling  per  week  at  pres- 
ent, he  might  as  well  hand  over  to  her  the  three  months'  pay 
which  he  had  already  earned.  And  the  woman  Avas  so  amused 
at  the  notion  of  little  Johnny  Wickes  being  able  to  earn  anything 
at  all,  that,  when  she  received  the  money  and  looked  at  it,  she 
burst  out  crying;  and  she  had  so  little  of  the  spirit  of  the  Brit- 
ish matron,  and  so  little  regard  for  the  laws  of  her  country,  that 
she  invoked  Heaven  knows  what — Heaven  does  know  what — 
blessings  on  the  head  of  the  very  man  who  had  carried  her  child 
into  slavery. 

"And  the  first  time  I  am  going  over  to  Oban,"  said  lie,  "  I  will 
take  him  with  me,  and  I  will  get  a  photograph  of  him  made,  and 
I  will  send  you  the  photograph.  And  did  you  get  the  rabbits  ?" 
said  he. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir,  I  got  the  rabbits." 

"And  it  is  a  very  fine  poacher  your  son  promises  to  be,  for  he 
got  every  one  of  the  rabbits  with  his  own  snare,  though  I  am 
thinking  it  v.as  old  Ilamish  was  showing  him  how  to  use  it. 
And  I  will  say  good-bye  to  you  now." 

The  poor  woman  seemed  to  liesitate  for  a  second. 

"If  there  was  any  sewing,  sir,"  said  she,  wiping  her  eyes  with 
the  corner  of  her  apron,  "  that  I  could  do  for  your  good  lady, 
sir—"  . 


A    RED    HOSE.  193 

"  But  I  am  not  married,"  said  lie,  quickly. 

"  Ah,  well,  indeed,  sir,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  But  if  there  is  any  lace,  or  sewing,  or  anything  like  that  you 
can  send  to  ray  mother,  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  pay  you  for  it 
as  well  as  any  one  else — " 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  paying,  sir ;  but  to  show  you  I  am  not 
ungrateful,"  was  the  answer ;  and  if  slie  said  hungrateful,  what 
matter?  She  v/as  a  woman  without  spirit;  she  had  sold  away 
her  son. 

From  this  dingy  court  he  made  his  way  round  to  Covent  Gar- 
den market,  and  he  went  into  a  florist's  shop  there. 

"  I  want  a  bouquet,"  said  he  to  the  neat-handed  maiden  who 
looked  up  at  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she ;  "  will  you  look  at  those  in  the  window  ?" 

"  But  I  want  one,"  said  he,  "  with  a  single  rose — a  red  rose — 
in  the  centre." 

This  proposition  did  not  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  mild- 
mannered  artist,  who  explained  to  him  that  something  more  im- 
portant and  ornate  was  necessary  in  the  middle  of  a  bouquet. 
He  could  liave  a  circle  of  rose-buds,,  if  he  liked,  outside  ;  and  a 
great  white  lily  or  camellia  in  the  centre.  He  could  have — this 
thing  and  the  next ;  she  showed  him  how  she  could  combine  the 
features  of  this  bouquet  with  those  of  the  next.  But  the  tall 
Highlander  remained  obdurate. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  think  you  are  quite  right.  You  are  quite 
right,  I  am  sure.  But  it  is  this  that  I  would  rather  have — only 
one  red  rose  in  the  centre,  and  you  can  make  the  rest  what  you 
like,  only  I  think  if  they  were  smaller  flowers,  and  all  Avhite,  that 
would  be  better." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  a  pleasing  smile  (she 
was  rather  good-looking  herself),  "  I  will  try  what  I  can  do  for 
you  if  you  don't  mind  waiting.     Will  you  take  a  chair?" 

He  was  quite  amazed  by  the  dexterity  with  which  those  nim- 
ble fingers  took  from  one  cluster  and  another  cluster  the  very 
flowers  he  would  himself  have  chosen  ;  and  by  the  rapid  fashion 
in  which  they  were  dressed,  fitted,  and  arranged.  The  work  of 
art  grew  apace. 

"  But  you  must  have  something  to  break  the  white,"  said  she, 
smiling,  "  or  it  will  look  too  like  a  bride's  bouquet ;"  and  with 
that — almost  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye — she  had  put  a  circular 

9 


194  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

line  of  dark  purple-blue  tlirough  the  creaiu-wliite  blossoms.  It 
was  a  splendid  rose  that  lay  in  the  midst  of  all  that  beauty. 

"  What  price  would  you  like  to  g'ive,  sir  ?"  the  gentle  Phyllis 
had  said  at  the  very  outset.     "  Half  a  guinea— fifteen  shillings  ?'* 

"  Give  me  a  beautiful  rose,"  said  he,  "  and  I  do  not  mind  what 
the  price  is." 

And  at  last  the  lace-paper  was  put  round ;  and  a  little  further 
trimming  and  setting  took  place ;  and  finally  the  bouquet  was 
swathed  in  soft  white  wool  and  put  into  a  basket. 

"  Shall  I  take  the  addrc&s  ?"  said  the  young  lady,  no  doubt  ex- 
pecting that  he  would  write  it  on  the  back  of  one  of  his  cards. 
But  no.  He  dictated  the  address,  and  then  laid  down  the  money. 
The  astute  young  person  was  puzzled — perhaps  disappointed. 

"  Is  there  no  message,  sir  V  said  she — "  no  card  ?" 

"  No ;  but  you  must  be  sure  to  have  it  delivered  to-night." 

"  It  shall  be  sent  oS  at  once,"  said  she,  probably  thinking  that 
this  was  a  very  foolish  young  man  who  did  not  know  the  ways 
of  the  world.  Tlie  only  persons  of  whom  she  had  any  experience 
who  sent  bouquets  without  a  note  or  a  letter  were  husbands,  who 
were  either  making  up  a  quarrel  with  their  wives  or  going  to 
the  opera,  and  she  had  observed  that  on  such  occasions  the  dif- 
ference between  twelve-and-sixpcnce  and  fifteen  shillings  was  re- 
garded and  considered. 

He  slept  but  little  that  night ;  and  next  morning  he  got  up 
Dcrvous  and  trembling,  like  a  drunken  man,  with  half  tlic  cour- 
age and  confidence,  that  had  so  long  sustained  him,  gone.  Major 
Stuart  went  out  early.  He  kept  pacing  about  the  room  until  the 
frightfully  slow  half-houi-s  went  by  ;  he  bated  the  clock  on  the 
mantel-piece.  And  then,  by  a  strong  effort  of  will,  he  delayed 
starting  until  he  should  barely  have  time  to  reach  her  house  by 
twelve  o'clock,  so  that  he  slionld  have  the  mad  delight  of  eagerly 
wishing  the  hansom  bad  a  still  more  furious  speed.  He  had 
chosen  his  horse  well.  It  wanted  five  minutes  to  the  appointed 
hour  when  he  arrived  at  the  house. 

Did  this  trim  maid-servant  know  ?  Was  there  anything  of 
welcome  in  the  demure  smile  ?  He  followed  her ;  his  face  was 
pale,  though  he  knew  it  not ;  in  the  dusk  of  the  room  he  was 
left  alone. 

But  what  was  this  on  the  table  ?  He  almost  uttered  a  cry  as 
his  bewildered  eyes  fixed  themselves  ou  it.     The  very  bouquet  he 


ENTHUSIASMS.  195 

had  sent  the  previous  evening ;  and  behold — behold  ! — the  red 
rof^e  wanting!  And  then,  at  the  same  moment,  he  turned;  and 
there  was  a  vision  of  something  all  in  white — that  came  to  him 
timidly — all  in  white  but  for  the  red  star  of  love  shining  there. 
And  she  did  not  speak  at  all ;  but  she  buried  her  head  in  his 
bosom  ;  and  he  held  her  hands  tight. 

And  now  what  will  Ulva  say — and  the  lonely  shores  of  Fladda 
— and  the  distant  Dutchman  roused  from  his  winter  sleep  amidst 
the  wild  waves?  Far  away  over  the  white  sands  of  lona — and 
the  sunliglit  must  be  shining  there  now — there  is  many  a  sacred 
spot  fit  for  the  solemn  plighting  of  lovers'  vows ;  and  if  there  is 
any  organ  wanted,  what  more  noble  than  the  vast  Atlantic  rollers 
booming  into  the  Bourg  and  Gribun  caves?  Surely  they  must 
know  already ;  for  the  sea-birds  have  caught  the  cry ;  and  there 
is  a  sound  all  through  the  glad  rushing  of  the  morning  seas  like 
the  sound  of  wedding-bells.  There  is  a  bride  coming  to  Castle 
Dare — the  islands  listen  ;  and  the  wild  sea  calls  again ;  and  the 
green  shores  of  Ulva  grow  greener  still  in  the  sunlight.  There 
is  a  bride  coming  to  Castle  Dare;  and  the  bride  is  dressed  all  in 
white — only  she  wears  a  red  rose. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ENTHUSIASMS. 

She  was  seated  alone,  her  arms  on  the  table,  her  head  bent 
down.  There  was  no  red  rose  now  in  the  white  mornino--dress. 
for  she  had  given  it  to  him  when  he  left.  The  frail  November 
sunshine  streamed  into  the  room  and  put  a  shimmer  of  gold  on 
the  soft  brown  of  her  hair. 

It  was  a  bold  step  she  had  taken,  without  counsel  of  any  one. 
Iler  dream  was  now  to  give  up  everything  that  she  had  hither- 
to cared  about,  and  to  go  away  into  private  life  to  play  the  part 
of  Lady  Bountiful.  And  if  doubts  about  the  strength  of  her 
own  resolution  occasionally  crossed  her  mind,  could  she  not  ap- 
peal for  aid  and  courage  to  him  who  would  always  be  by  her 
side?.  When  she  became  a  Macleod,  she  would  have  to  accept 
the  motto  of  the  Macleods.     That  motto  is,  Hold  Fast. 

She  beard  her  sister  come  into  the  house,  and  slie  raised  her 


103  MACLEOD    OK    DARE, 

head.     Presently  Carry  opened  the  door ;  and  it  was  clear  she 
was  in  high  spirits. 

"  Oh,  Mopsy,"  said  she — and  this  was  a  pet  name  she  gave  her 
sister  only  when  the  latter  was  in  great  favor — "  did  you  ever  see 
such  a  morning  in  November?  Don't  you  think  papa  might 
take  us  to  Kew  Gardens  ?" 

*'  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Carry — come  here,"  she  said,  grave- 
ly;  and  the  younger  sister  went  and  stood  by  the  table.  "You 
know  you  and  I  are  thrown  very  much  on  each  other ;  and  we 
ought  to  have  no  secrets  from  each  other ;  and  we  ought  to  bo 
always  quite  sure  of  each  other's  sympathy.  Now,  Carry,  you 
must  be  patient,  you  must  be  kind  :  if  I  don't  get  sympathy  from 
you,  from  whom  should  I  get  it?" 

Carry  withdrew  a  step,  and  her  manner  instantly  changed. 
Gertrude  White  was  a  very  clever  actress :  but  she  had  never 
been  able  to  impose  on  her  3'ounger  sister.  This  imploring  look 
was  all  very  fine;  this  appeal  for  sympathy  was  pathetic  enough ; 
but  both  only  awakened  Carry's  suspicions.  In  their  ordinary 
talk  sisters  rarely  use  such  formal  words  as  "  sympathy." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  she,  sharply. 

"There  —  already  !"  exclaimed  the  other,  apparently  in  deep 
disappointment.  "Just  when  I  most  need  your  kindness  and 
sympathy,  you  show  yourself  most  unfeeling — " 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  it  is  all  about,"  Carry  said, 
impatiently. 

The  elder  sister  lowered  her  eyes,  and  her  fingers  began  to 
work  with  a  paper-knife  that  was  lying  there.  Perhaps  this  was 
only  a  bit  of  stage-business ;  or  perhaps  she  was  really  a  little 
apprehensive  about  the  eSect  of  her  announcement. 

"Carry,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  have  promised  to  marry 
Sir  Keith  Maclcod." 

Carry  uttered  a  slight  cry  of  horror  and  surprise ;  but  this  too 
was  only  a  bit  of  stage  effect,  for  she  had  fully  anticipated  the 
disclosure. 

"  Well,  Gertrude  White !"  said  she,  apparently  when  she  had 
recovered  her  breath.     "  Well — I — I — I — never !" 

Her  language  was  not  as  imposing  as  her  gestures ;  but  then 
nobody  had  written  the  part  for  her ;  whereas  her  very  tolerable 
acting  was  nature's  own  gift. 

"  Now,  Carr}^,  be  reasonable — don't  be  angry  :  what  is  the  use 


ENTHUSIASMS.  197 

of  being  vexed  with  wliat,  is  past  recalling?  Any  other  sistei 
would  be  very  glad  at  such  a  time — "  These  were  the  hurried 
and  broken  sentences  with  which  the  culprit  sought  to  stave  ofi 
the  coining  wrath.  But,  oddly  enough,  Miss  Carry  refrained  from 
denunciations  or  any  other  stormy  expression  of  lier  anger  and 
scorn.     She  suddenly  assumed  a  cold  and  critical  air. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  she,  "  before  you  allowed  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
Icod  to  ask  you  to  become  his  wife,  you  explained  to  him  our 
circumstances." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  You  told  him,  of  course,  that  you  had  a  ne'er-do-well  brother 
in  Australia,  who  might  at  any  moment  appear  and  disgrace  the 
whole  family  ?" 

"  I  told  him  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  had  no  opportunity  of 
going  into  family  affairs.  And  if  I  had,  what  has  Tom  got  to  do 
with  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?  I  had  forgotten  his  very  existence — • 
no  wondei",  after  eight  years  of  absolute  silence." 

But  Carry,  having  fired  this  shot,  was  off  after  other  ammu- 
nition. 

"  You  told  hiu)  you  had  sweethearts  before  ?" 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  said  Miss  Gertrude  White,  v/armly,  "  because 
it  isn't  true." 

"What?— Mr.  Howson?" 

"  The  orchestra  leader  in  a  provincial  theatre  !" 

"  Oh  yes !  but  you  did  not  speak  so  contemptuously  of  him 
then.     \Vhv,  you  made  him  believe  he  was  another  Mendelssohn  !" 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense." 

"And  Mr.  Brook  —  you  no  doubt  told  him  that  Mr.  Brook 
called  on  papa,  and  asked  him  to  go  down  to  Doctors'  Commons 
and  see  for  himself  what  money  he  would  have — " 

"  And  what  then  ?  IIow  can  I  prevent  any  idiotic  boy  who 
chooses  to  turn  me  into  a  heroine  from  going  and  making  a 
fool  of  himself  ?" 

"  Oh,  Gertrude  White  !"  said  Carry,  solemnly.  "  Will  you  sit 
there  and  tell  me  you  gave  him  no  encouragement?" 

"  This  is  mere  folly !"  the  elder  sister  said,  petulantly,  as  she 
rose  and  proceeded  to  put  straight  a  few  of  the  things  about  the 
room.  "  I  had  hoped  better  things  of  you.  Carry.  I  tell  you  of 
an  important  step  I  have  taken  in  my  life,  and  you  bring  out  a 
lot  of  tattle  and  nonsense.     However,  I  can  act  for  myself.     It 


198  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

is  true,  I  had  imagined  something  different.  When  I  marry,  of 
course,  we  shall  be  separated.  I  had  looked  forward  to  the  pleas- 
ure of  showing  you  my  new  home." 

"  Where  is  it  to  be  ?" 

"  Wherever  my  husband  wishes  it  to  be,"  she  answered,  proud- 
ly ;  but  there  was  a  conscious  flush  of  color  in  her  face  as  she 
uttered — for  the  first  time — that  word. 

"  In  the  Ilighlands,  I  suppose,  for  he  is  uot  rich  enough  to 
have  two  houses,"  said  Carry ;  which  showed  that  slie  had  been 
pondering  over  this  matter  before.  "And  he  has  already  got 
his  mother  and  his  old -maid  sister,  or  whatever  she  is,  in  the 
house.     You  will  make  a  pretty  family  !" 

This  was  a  cruel  thrust.  When  Maclcod  had  spoken  of  the 
far  home  overlooking  the  Northern  seas,  what  could  be  more 
beautiful  than  his  picture  of  the  noble  and  silver-haired  dame, 
and  of  the  gentle  and  loving  cousin  who  was  the  friend  and 
counsellor  of  the  poor  people  around?  And  when  he  had  sug- 
gested that  some  day  or  other  Mr.  White  might  bring  his  daugh- 
ter to  these  remote  regions  to  see  all  the  wonders  and  the  splen- 
dors of  them,  he  told  her  how  the  beautiful  mother  would  take 
her  to  this  place  and  to  that  place,  and  how  that  Janet  Macleod 
would  pet  and  befriend  her,  and  perhaps  teach  her  a  few  words 
of  the  Gaelic,  that  she  might  have  a  kindly  phrase  for  the  pass- 
er-by. But  this  picture  of  Carry's ! — a  houseful  of  wrangling 
women  ! 

If  she  had  had  her  will  just  then,  she  would  instantly  have  re- 
called Macleod,  and  placed  his  courage  and  careless  confidence 
between  her  and  this  cruel  criticism.  She  had  never,  in  truth, 
thought  of  these  things.  His  pertinacity  would  not  allow  her. 
He  had  kept  insisting  that  the  only  point  for  her  to  consider  was 
whether  she  had  sufficient  love  for  him  to  enable  her  to  answer 
his  great  love  for  her  with  the  one  word  "  Yes."  Thereafter, 
according  to  his  showing,  everything  else  was  a  mere  trifle.  Ob- 
stacles, troubles,  delaj's? — he  would  hear  of  nothing  of  the  sort. 
And  although,  while  he  was  present,  she  had  been  inspired  by 
something  of  this  confident  feeling,  now  when  she  was  attacked 
Jb  his  absence  she  felt  herself  defenceless. 

"  You  may  be  as  disagreeable  as  you  like.  Carry,"  said  she, 
almost  wearily.  "  I  cannot  help  it.  I  never  could  understand 
vour  dislike  to  Sir  Keith  Macleod." 


ENTHUSIASMS.  199 

"Cannot  you  understand,"  said  the  younger  sister,  with  some 
sliow  of  indignation,  "  that  if  you  arc  to  marry  at  all,  I  should 
like  to  see  you  marry  an  Englishman,  instead  of  a  great  High- 
land savafje  who  tbinks  about  nothing  but  beasts'  skins?  And 
why  should  you  marry  at  all,  Gertrude  White?  I  suppose  he 
will  make  you  leave  the  theatre ;  and  instead  of  being  a  famous 
woman  whom  everybody  admires  and  talks  about,  you  will  be 
plain  Mrs,  Nobody,  hidden  away  in  some  place,  and  no  one  will 
over  hear  of  you  again!  Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing? 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  woman  making  such  a  fool  of  herself 
before  ?" 

So  far  from  being  annoyed  by  this  strong  language,  the  elder 
sister  seemed  quite  pleased. 

"  Do  you  know.  Carry,  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile.  "  You  almost  persuade  me  that  I  am  not 
asking  him  for  too  great  a  sacrifice,  after  all — " 

*'  A  sacrifice !  On  his  part !"  exclaimed  the  younger  sister ; 
and  then  she  added,  with  decision :  "  But  it  sha'n't  be,  Gertrude 
White !     I  will  go  to  papa." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  elder  sister,  who  was  nearer  the  door, 
"  you  need  not  trouble  yourself :  I  am  going  now." 

She  went  into  the  small  room  which  was  called  her  father's 
study,  but  which  was  in  reality  a  sort  of  museum.  She  closed 
the  door  behind  her. 

"I  have  just  had  the  pleasure  of  an  interview  with  Carry, 
papa,"  she  said,  with  a  certain  bitterness  of  tone,  "  and  she  has 
tried  hard  to  make  me  as  miserable  as  I  can  be.  If  I  am  to  have 
another  dose  of  it  from  you,  papa,  I  may  as  well  have  it  at  once. 
I  have  promised  to  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod." 

She  sank  down  in  an  easy-chair.  There  was  a  look  on  her 
face  which  plainly  said,  "  Now  do  your  worst ;  I  cannot  be  more 
wretched  than  I  am," 

"You  have  promised  to  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod?"  he  re- 
peated, slowly,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  face. 

He  did  not  break  into  any  rage,  and  accuse  Macleod  of  treach- 
ery or  her  of  filial  disobedience.  He  knew  that  she  was  familiar 
with  that  kind  of  thing.  What  he  had  to  deal  with  was  the 
immediate  future,  not  the  past. 

"Yes,"  she  answered, 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  the  same  deliberation  of  tone,  "I  sup- 


200  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

pose  you  have  not  come  to  me  for  advice,  since  you  have  acted 
so  far  for  yourself.  If  I  were  to  give  you  advice,  however,  it 
would  be  to  break  your  promise  as  soon  as  you  decently  can, 
both  for  his  sake  and  for  your  own." 

"  I  thought  you  would  say  so,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  des- 
perate mirth.  "  I  came  to  have  all  my  wretchedness  heaped  on 
me  at  once.  It  is  a  very  pleasing  sensation,  I  wonder  if  I 
could  express  it  on  the  stage.  That  would  be  making  use  of  mv 
new  experiences — as  you  have  taught  me — " 

But  here  she  burst  into  tears;  and  then  got  up  and  walked 
impatiently  about  the  room ;  and  finally  dried  her  eyes,  witii 
shame  and  mortification  visible  on  her  face. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  me,  papa  ?  I  am  a  fool  to  mind 
what  a  school-girl  says." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  anything  to  say,"  he  observed, 
calmly.     "  You  knov/  your  own  feelings  best." 

And  then  he  regarded  her  attentively. 

"  I  suppose  when  you  marry  you  will  give  up  the  stage." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  should  doubt,"  he  said,  with  quite  a  dispassionate  air, 
"  your  being  able  to  play  one  part  for  a  lifetime.  You  might 
get  tired — and  that  would  be  awkward  for  your  husband  and 
yourself.  I  don't  say  anything  about  your  giving  up  all  your 
prospects,  although  I  had  great  pride  in  you  and  a  still  greater 
hope.  That  is  for  your  own  consideration.  If  you  think  you 
will  be  happier — if  you  are  sure  you  will  have  no  regret — if,  as 
I  say,  you  think  you  can  play  the  one  part  for  a  lifetime — well 
and  good." 

"  And  you  are  right,"  she  said,  bitterly,  "  to  speak  of  me  as  an 
actress,  and  not  as  a  human  being.  I  must  be  playing  a  part  to 
the  end,  I  suppose.  Perhaps  so.  Well,  I  hope  I  shall  please  my 
smaller  audience  as  well  as  I  seem  to  have  pleased  the  bigger 
one." 

Then  she  altered  her  tone. 

"  I  told  you,  papa,  the  other  day  of  my  having  seen  that  child 
run  over  and  brought  back  to  the  woman  who  was  standing  on 
the  pavement." 

"  Yes,"  said  he ;  but  wondering  wliy  this  incident  should  be 
referred  to  at  such  a  moment. 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  the  truth — at  least  the  whole  truth.     When 


ENTHUSIASMS.  201 

I  walked  away,  what  was  I  thinking  of?  I  caught  myself  trying 
to  recall  the  way  in  which  tlie  woman  threw  her  arms  up  when 
she  saw  the  dead  body  of  her  child,  and  I  was  v/ondering  whether 
I  could  repeat  it.  And  then  I  began  to  wonder  whether  I  was  a 
devil — or  a  woman." 

"  Bah  !"  said  he.  "  That  is  a  craze  you  have  at  present.  You 
have  had  fifty  others  before.  What  I  am  afraid  of  is  that,  at 
the  instigation  of  some  such  temporary  fad,  you  will  take  a  step 
that  you  will  find  irrevocable.  Just  think  over  it,  Gerty.  If  you 
leave  the  stage, you  will  destroy  many  a  hope  I  had  formed;  but 
that  doesn't  matter.  Whatever  is  most  for  your  happiness — that 
is  the  only  point." 

"  And  so  you  have  given  me  your  congratulations,  papa,"  she 
said,  rising.  "  1  have  been  so  thoroughly  trained  to  be  an  actress 
that,  when  I  marry,  I  shall  only  go  from  one  stage  to  another." 

"  That  was  only  a  figure  of  speech,"  said  he. 

"At  all  events,"  she  said,  "I  shall  not  be  vexed  by  petty  jeal- 
ousies of  other  actresses,  and  I  shall  cease  to  be  worried  and 
humiliated  by  what  they  say  about  me  in  the  provincial  news- 
papers." 

"  As  for  the  newspapers,"  he  retorted,  "  you  have  little  to  com- 
plain of.  They  have  treated  you  very  well.  And  even  if  they 
annoyed  you  by  a  phrase  here  or  there,  surely  the  remedy  is  sim- 
ple. You  need  not  read  them.  You  don't  require  any  recom- 
mendation to  the  public  now.  As  for  your  jealousy  of  other 
actresses  —  that  was  always  an  unreasonable  vexation  on  your 
part—" 

"  Yes,  and  that  only  made  it  the  more  liumiliating  to  myself," 
said  she,  quickly. 

"  But  think  of  this,"  said  he.  "  You  are  married.  You  have 
been  long  away  from  the  scene  of  your  former  triumphs.  Some 
day  you  go  to  the  theatre ;  and  you  find  as  the  favorite  of  the 
public  a  woman  who,  you  can  see,  cannot  come  near  to  Avhat  you 
used  to  do.  And  I  suppose  you  won't  be  jealous  of  her,  and 
anxious  to  defeat  her  on  the  old  ground." 

"  I  can  do  with  that  as  yoa  suggested  about  the  newspapers : 
I  need  not  go  to  the  theatre." 

"Very  well,  Gerty.  I  hope  all  will  be  for  the  best.  But  do 
not  be  in  a  hurry ;  take  time  and  consider." 

She  saw  clearly  enough  that  this  calm  acquiescence  was  all  the 

9* 


202  MACLEOD    OF    OARE. 

congratulation  or  advice  she  was  likely  to  get ;  and  she  went  to 
the  door. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  diffidently,  "  Sir  Keith  Macleod  is  coming  up 
to-morrow  morning — to  go  to  church  with  us." 

"  Yes  ?"  said  he,  indifferently. 

"  lie  may  speak  to  you  before  we  go." 

"Very  well.  Of  course  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  the  matter. 
You  are  mistress  of  your  own  actions." 

She  went  to  her  own  room,  and  locked  herself  in,  feeling  very 
lonely,  and  disheartened,  and  miserable.  There  was  more  to 
alarm  her  in  her  father's  faintly  expressed  doubts  than  in  all 
Carry's  vehement  opposition  and  taunts.  Why  had  Macleod  left 
her  alone  ? — if  only  she  could  see  him  laugh,  her  courage  would 
be  reassured. 

Then  she  bethought  her  that  this  was  not  a  fit  mood  for  one 
who  had  promised  to  be  the  wife  of  a  Macleod.  She  went  to  the 
mirror  and  regarded  herself;  and  almost  unconsciously  an  expres- 
sion of  pride  and  resolve  appeared  about  the  lines  of  her  mouth. 
And  she  would  show  to  herself  that  she  had  still  a  woman's  feel- 
ings by  going  out  and  doing  some  actual  work  of  charity ;  she 
would  prove  to  herself  that  the  constant  simulation  of  noble  emo- 
tions had  not  deadened  them  in  her  own  nature.  She  put  on  her 
hat  and  shawl,  and  went  down-stairs,  and  went  out  into  the  free 
air  and  the  sunlight — without  a  word  to  either  Carry  or  her  fa- 
ther. She  was  trying  to  imagine  herself  as  having  already  left 
the  stage  and  all  its  fictitious  allurements.  She  was  now  Lady 
Bountiful :  having  looked  after  the  simple  cares  of  her  household 
she  was  now  ready  to  cast  her  eyes  abroad,,  and  relieve  in  so  far 
as  she  might  the  distress  around  her.  The  first  object  of  charity 
she  encountered  Avas  an  old  crossing-sweeper.  She  addressed  him 
in  a  matter-of-fact  way  which  was  intended  to  conceal  her  flutter- 
ing self -consciousness.  She  inquired  whether  he  had  a  wife; 
whether  he  had  any  children  ;  whether  they  were  not  rather 
poor.  And  having  been  answered  in  the  afiirmative  on  all  those 
points,  she  surprised  the  old  man  by  giving  him  five  shillings  and 
telling  him  to  go  home  and  get  a  good  warm  dinner  for  his  famil}-. 
She  passed  on,  and  did  not  observe  that,  as  soon  as  her  back  was 
turned,  the  old  wretch  made  straight  for  the  nearest  public-house. 

But  her  heart  was  happy ;  and  her  courage  rose.  It  was  not 
for  nothing,  then,  that  she  had  entertained  the  bold  resolve  of 


ENTIIUSIASMa.  203 

casting  aside  forever  the  one  great  ambition  of  her  life — with  all 
its  intoxicating  successes,  and  hopes,  and  struggles— for  the  home- 
ly and  simple  duties  of  an  ordinary  woman's  existence.  It  was 
not  in  vain  that  she  had  read  and  dreamed  of  the  far  romantic 
land,  and  had  ventured  to  think  of  herself  as  the  proud  wife  of 
Macleod  of  Dare.  Those  fierce  deeds  of  valor  and  vengeance 
that  had  terrified  and  thrilled  her  would  now  become  part  of  her 
own  inheritance  ;  why,  she  could  tell  her  friends,  when  they  came 
to  see  her,  of  all  the  old  legends  and  fairy  stories  that  belonged 
to  her  own  home.  And  the  part  of  Lady  Bountiful — surely,  if 
she  must  play  some  part,  that  was  the  one  she  would  most  dearly 
like  to  play.  And  the  years  would  go  by ;  and  she  would  grow 
silver-haired  too ;  and  when  she  lay  on  her  death-bed  she  would 
take  her  husband's  hand  and  say,  "Have  I  lived  the  life  you 
wished  me  to  live  ?"  Her  cheerfulness  grew  apace ;  and  the 
walking,  and  the  sunshine,  and  the  fresh  air  brought  a  fine  light 
and  color  to  her  eyes  and  cheeks.  There  was  a  song  singing 
through  her  head;  and  it  was  all  about  the  brave  Glenogie  who 
rode  up  the  king's  ha'. 

But  as  she  turned  the  corner  of  a  street,  her  eye  rested  on  a 
huge  colored  placard — rested  but  for  a  moment,  for  she  would 
not  look  on  the  great,  gaudy  thing.  Just  at  this  time  a  noble 
lord  had  shown  his  interest  in  the  British  drama  by  spending  an 
enormous  amount  of  money  in  producing,  at  a  theatre  of  his  own 
building,  a  spectacular  burlesque,  the  gorgeousness  of  which  sur- 
passed anything  that  had  ever  been  done  in  that  way.  And  the 
lady  who  appeared  to  be  playing  (in  silence  mostly)  the  chief 
part  in  this  hash  of  glaring  color  and  roaring  music  and  clashing 
armor  had  gained  a  great  celebrity  by  reason  of  her  handsome 
figure,  and  the  splendor  of  her  costume,  and  the  magnificence  of 
the  real  diamonds  that  she  wore.  All  London  was  talking  of 
her;  and  the  vast  theatre  —  even  in  November  —  was  nightly 
crammed  to  overflowing.  As  Gertrude  White  walked  back  to 
her  home  her  heart  was  filled  with  bitterness.  She  had  caught 
sight  of  the  ostentatious  placard ;  and  she  knew  that  the  photo- 
graph of  the  creature  who  was  figuring  there  was  in  every  sta- 
tioner's shop  in  the  Strand.  And  that  which  galled  her  was  not 
that  the  theatre  should  be  so  taken  and  so  used,  but  that  the  stage 
heroine  of  the  hour  should  be  a  woman  who  could  act  no  more 
than  any  baboon  in  the  Zoological  Gardens. 


204  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IN    SUSSEX. 

But  as  for  liim,  there  was  no  moderation  at  all  in  the  yehe- 
mence  of  his  joy.  In  the  surprise  and  bewilderment  of  it,  the 
world  around  him  underwent  transfiguration  ;  London  in  Novem- 
ber was  glorified  into  an  earthly  paradise.  The  very  people  in 
the  streets  seemed  to  have  kindly  faces ;  Bury  Street,  St.  James's 
— which  is  usually  a  somewhat  misty  thoroughfare — was  moro 
beautiful  than  the  rose-garden  of  an  Eastern  king.  And  on  this 
Saturday  afternoon  the  blue  skies  did,  indeed,  continue  to  shine 
over  the  great  city ;  and  the  air  seemed  sweet  and  clear  enough, 
as  it  generally  does  to  any  one  whose  every  heart-beat  is  only 
another  throb  of  conscious  gladness. 

In  this  first  intoxication  of  wonder,  and  pride,  and  gratitude,  he 
had  forgotten  all  about  these  ingenious  theories  which,  in  former 
days,  he  had  constructed  to  prove  to  himself  that  Gertrude  White 
should  give  up  her  present  way  of  life.  Was  it  true,  then,  that 
he  had  rescued  the  white  slave?  Was  it  once  and  forever  that 
Nature,  encountering  the  subtle  demon  of  Art,  had  closed  and 
Avrestled  with  the  insidious  thing,  had  seized  it  by  the  throat, 
and  choked  it,  and  flung  it  aside  from  the  fair  roadway  of  life  ? 
lie  had  forgotten  about  these  things  now.  All  that  he  was  con- 
scious of  was  this  eager  joy,  with  now  and  again  a  wild  wonder 
that  he  should  indeed  have  acquired  so  priceless  a  possession. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  would  really  withdraw  herself  from  the 
eyes  of  all  the  world  and  give  herself  to  him  alone  ? — that  some 
day,  in  the  beautiful  and  laughing  future,  the  glory  of  her  pres- 
ence would  light  up  the  dull  halls  of  Castle  Dare? 

Of  course  he  poured  all  his  pent-up  confidence  into  the  ear  of 
the  astonished  major,  and  again  and  again  expressed  his  gratitude 
to  his  companion  for  having  given  him  the  opportunity  of  se- 
curing this  transcendent  happiness.  The  major  Avas  somewhat 
frightened.  He  did  not  know  in  what  measure  he  might  be  re- 
garded as  an  accomplice  by  the  silver-haired  lady  of  Castle  Dare. 


IN   SUSSEX.  205 

And  in  any  case  be  was  alarmed  by  tbe  vebemence  of  tbc  young 
man. 

"  My  dear  Macleod,"  said  be,  witb  an  oracular  air,  "  you  never 
have  any  bold  on  yourself.  You  fling  tbe  reins  on  tbe  horse's 
neck,  and  gallop  down  bill :  a  very  slight  check  would  send  you 
whirling  to  tbe  bottom.  Now,  you  should  take  the  advice  of  a 
man  of  the  world,  who  is  older  than  you,  and  who — if  I  may  say 
so — has  kept  bis  eyes  open.  I  don't  want  to  discourage  yon ; 
but  you  should  take  it  for  granted  that  accidents  may  happen. 
I  would  feel  the  reins  a  little  bit,  if  I  were  you.  Once  you've 
got  her  into  tbe  church,  and  see  her  with  a  white  veil  over  her 
head,  then  you  may  be  as  perfervid  as  you  like — " 

And  so  the  simple-minded  major  prattled  on,  Macleod  paying 
but  little  heed.  There  bad  been  nothing  about  Major  Stuart's 
courtship  and  marriage  to  shake  the  world  :  why,  be  said  to  him- 
self, when  the  lady  was  pleased  to  lend  a  favoring  ear,  was  there 
anv  reason  for  making  such  a  fuss? 

"  Your  happiness  will  all  depend  on  one  thing,"  said  he  to 
Macleod,  with  a  complacent  wisdom  in  the  round  and  jovial  face. 
"Take  my  word  for  it.  I  bear  of  people  studying  the  charac- 
ter, tbe  compatibilities,  and  what  not,  of  other  people  ;  but  I  nev- 
er knew  of  a  j'^oung  man  thinking  of  such  things  when  be  was 
in  love.  He  plunges  in,  and  finds  out  afterward.  Now  it  all 
comes  to  this — is  she  likely,  or  not  likely,  to  prove  a  sighcr?" 

"  A  what  ?"  said  Macleod,  apparently  awakening  from  a  trance. 

"A  sigber.  A  woman  who  goes  about  tbe  bouse  all  day  sigh- 
ing, whether  over  your  sins  or  her  own,  she  won't  tell  you." 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot  say,"  Macleod  said,  laughing.  "  I  should 
hope  not.     I  think  she  has  excellent  spirits." 

"Ah!"  said  the  major,  thoughtfully  ;  and  he  himself  sighed. 
Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  a  certain  house  far  away  in  Mull,  to 
which  be  had  shortly  to  return. 

Macleod  did  not  know  bow  to  show  his  gratitude  toward  this 
good-natured  friend.  lie  would  have  given  him  half  a  dozen 
banquets  a  day ;  and  Major  Stuart  liked  a  London  dinner.  But 
what  he  did  offer  as  a  great  reward  was  this :  that  Major  Stuart 
should  go  up  the  next  morning  to  a  particular  church,  and  take 
up  a  particular  position  in  that  church,  and  then — then  he  would 
get  a  glimpse  of  the  most  wonderful  creature  the  world  had  seen. 
Oddly  enough,  the  major  did  not  eagerly  accept  this  munificent 


20G  MACLEOD    OK    UAKE. 

offer.  To  another  proposal  —  that  he  should  go  up  to  Mr. 
White's,  on  t!ic  first  day  after  their  return  from  Sussex,  and  meet 
the  young  lady  at  luncheon — he  seemed  better  inclined. 

"  But  why  shouldn't  we  go  to  the  theatre  to-night?"  said  he,  in 
his  simple  way. 

Macleod  looked  embarrassed. 

"  Frankly,  then,  Stuart,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  make 
her  acquaintance  as  an  actress." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  he,  not  greatly  disappointed.  "  Perhaps 
it  is  better.  You  see,  I  may  be  questioned  at  Ca.stle  Dare. 
Have  you  considered  that  matter  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  Macleod  said,  lightly  and  cheerfully,  "  I  have  bad 
time  to  consider  nothing  as  yet.  I  can  scarcely  believe  it  to  be 
all  real.  It  takes  a  deal  of  hard  thinking  to  convince  myself  that 
I  am  not  dreaming." 

But  the  true  fashion  in  which  Macleod  showed  his  gratitude 
to  his  friend  was  in  concealing  his  great  reluctance  on  going 
down  with  him  into  Sussex.  It  was  like  rending  his  heart-string's 
for  him  to  leave  London  for  a  single  hour  at  this  time.  What 
beautiful  confidences,  and  tender,  timid  looks,  and  sweet,  small 
words  he  was  leaving  behind  him  in  order  to  go  and  shoot  a  lot 
of  miserable  pheasants  !  lie  was  rather  gloomy  when  he  met  the 
major  at  Victoria  Station.  They  got  into  the  train ;  and  away 
through  the  darkness  of  the  November  afternoon  they  rattled  to 
Three  Bridges ;  but  all  the  eager  sportsman  had  gone  out  of 
him,  and  he  had  next  to  nothing  to  say  in  answer  to  the  major's 
excited  questions.  Occasionally  he  would  rouse  himself  from 
this  reverie,  and  he  would  talk  in  a  perfunctory  sort  of  fashion 
about  the  imm.ediate  business  of  the  moment.  He  confessed 
that  he  had  a  certain  theoretical  repugnance  to  a  battue,  if  it 
were  at  all  like  what  people  in  the  newspapers  declared  it  to  be. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  could  not  well  understand — judging  by 
his  experiences  in  the  Highland;? — how  the  shooting  of  driven 
birds  could  be  so  marvellously  easy ;  and  he  was  not  quite  sure 
that  the  writers  he  had  referred  to  had  had  many  opportunities 
of  practicing,  or  even  observing,  so  very  expensive  an  amusement. 
Major  Stuart,  for  his  part,  freely  admitted  that  he  had  no  scruples 
whatever.  Shooting  birds,  he  roundly  declared,  was  shooting  birds, 
whether  you  shot  two  or  two  score.  And  he  demurely  hinted  that, 
if  he  had  his  choice,  he  would  rather  shoot  the  two  score. 


IN   SUSSEX.  207 

"  Mind  you,  Stuart,"  Maclcod  said,  "  if  we  are  posted  any- 
where near  each  other — mind  you  shoot  at  any  bird  tliat  comes 
my  way.  I  should  like  you  to  make  a  big  bag  that  you  may 
talk  about  in  Mull ;  and  I  don't  really  care  about  it." 

And  this  was  the  man  whom  Miss  Carry  had  described  as 
being  nothing  but  a  slayer  of  wild  animals  and  a  preserver  of 
beasts'  skins !  Perhaps,  in  that  imaginary  duel  between  Nature 
and  Art,  the  enemy  was  not  so  thoroughly  beaten  and  thrown 
aside,  after  all. 

So  they  got  to  Three  Bridges,  and  there  they  found  the  car- 
riage awaiting  them ;  and  presently  they  were  whirling  away 
along  the  dark  roads,  with  the  lamps  shining  alternately  on  a  line 
of  hedge  or  on  a  long  stretch  of  ivied  brick  wall.  And  at  last 
they  passed  a  lodge  gate,  and  drove  through  a  great  and  silent 
park ;  and  finally,  rattling  over  the  gravel,  drew  up  in  front  of 
some  gray  steps  and  a  blaze  of  light  coming  from  the  wide-open 
doors.  Under  Lord  Beauregard's  guidance,  they  went  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  found  a  number  of  people  idly  chatting  there, 
or  reading  by  the  subdued  light  of  the  various  lamps  on  the 
small  tables.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  the  weather. 
Macleod,  vaguely  conscious  that  these  people  were  only  strangers, 
and  that  the  one  heart  that  was  thinking  of  him  was  now  far 
away,  paid  but  little  heed ;  if  he  had  been  told  that  the  barom- 
eter predicted  fifteen  thunder-storms  for  the  morrow,  he  would 
have  been  neither  startled  nor  dismayed. 

But  he  managed  to  say  to  his  host,  aside : 

"  Beauregard,  look  here.  I  suppose,  in  this  sort  of  shooting, 
you  have  some  little  understanding  with  your  hoad-kecper  about 
the  posts — who  is  to  be  a  bit  favored,  you  know.  Well,  I  wish 
ycu  would  ask  him  to  look  after  my  friend  Stuart.  He  can 
leave  me  out  altogether,  if  he  likes." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  there  will  be  scarcely  any  difference ;  but  I 
will  look  after  your  friend  myself.  I  suppose  you  have  no  guns 
with  you  ?" 

"  I  have  borrowed  Ogilvie's.     Stuart  has  none." 

*'  I  will  get  one  for  him." 

By-and-by  they  went  up-stairs  to  their  respective  rooms,  and 
Macleod  was  left  alone — that  is  to  say,  he  was  scarcely  aware  of 
the  presence  of  the  man  who  was  opening  his  portmanteau  and 
putting  out  his  things.     lie  lay  back  in  the  low  easy-chair,  and 


208  MACLEOD    OF    UAUR. 

stared  absently  into  the  blazing  fire.  Tliis  was  a  beautiful  but  a 
lonely  bouse.  There  were  many  strangers  in  it.  But  if  she  had 
been  one  of  the  people  below — if  he  could  at  this  moment  look 
forward  to  meeting  her  at  dinner — if  there  was  a  chance  of  his 
sittinsf  beside  her  and  listening  to  the  low  and  sweet  voice — with 
what  an  eager  joy  he  would  have  waited  for  the  sound  of  the 
bell !  As  it  v/as,  his  heart  was  in  London.  lie  had  no  sort  of 
interest  in  this  big  house,  or  in  the  strangers  whom  he  had  met, 
or  in  the  proceedings  of  the  morrow,  about  which  all  the  men 
were  talking.     It  was  a  lonely  house. 

He  was  aroused  by  a  tapping  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said,  and  Major  Stuart  entered,  blooming  and 
roseate  over  his  display  of  white  linen. 

"  Good  gracious  !"  said  he,  "  aren't  you  dressed  yet?  It  wants 
but  ten  minutes  to  dinner-time.     What  liave  you  been  doing?" 

Macleod  jumped  up  with  some  shamefacedness,  and  began  to 
array  himself  quickly. 

"  Macleod,"  said  the  major,  subsiding  into  the  big  arm-chair 
very  carefully  so  as  not  to  crease  his  shining  shirt-front,  "  I  must 
give  you  another  piece  of  advice.  It  is  serious.  I  have  heard 
again  and  again  that  when  a  man  thinks  only  of  one  thing — 
when  he  keeps  brooding  over  it  day  and  night — he  is  bound  to 
become  mad.  They  call  it  monomania.  You  are  becoming  a 
monomaniac." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  am,"  Macleod  said,  laughing ;  "  but  it  is  a  very 
pleasant  sort  of  monomania,  and  I  am  not  anxious  to  become 
sane.  But  you  really  must  not  be  hard  on  me,  Stuart.  You 
know  this  is  rather  an  important  thing  that  has  happened  to  me; 
and  it  wants  a  good  deal  of  thinking  over." 

"  Bah !"  the  major  cried,  "  why  take  it  so  much  au  grand  se- 
ricux?  A  girl  likes  you;  says  she'll  marry  you;  probably,  if 
she  continues  in  the  same  mind,  she  will.  Consider  yourself  a 
lucky  dog;  and  don't  break  your  heart  if  an  accident  occurs. 
Hope  for  the  best — that  you  and  she  mayn't  quarrel,  and  that 
she  rnayn't  prove  a  sigher.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  this 
house  ?  I  consider  it  an  uncommon  good  dodge  to  put  each  per- 
son's name  outside  his  bedroom  door;  there  can't  be  any  con- 
founded mistakes — and  women  squealing — if  you  come  up  late 
at  night.  Why,  Macleod,  you  don't  mean  that  this  affair  has 
destroyed  all  your  interest  in  the  shooting?     Man,  I  have  been 


IN    SUSSEX.  209 

down  to  the  gun-room  with  your  friend  Beauregard ;  have  seen 
the  head-keeper;,  got  a  gun  that  suits  me  first-rate — a  trifle  long 
in  the  stock,  perhaps,  but  no  matter.  You  won't  tip  any  moro 
than  the  head-keeper,  eh  ?  And  the  fellow  who  carries  your  car- 
tridsfe-bair ?  I  do  think  it  uncommonlv  civil  of  a  man  not  only 
to  ask  you  to  go  shooting,  but  to  find  you  in  guns  and  cartridges 
as  well ;  don't  you  ?" 

The  major  chatted  on  with  great  cheerfulness.  He  clearly 
considered  that  he  had  got  into  excellent  quarters.  At  dinner 
lie  told  some  of  his  most  famous  Indian  stories  to  Lady  Beaure- 
gard, near  whom  ho  was  sitting;  and  at  night,  in  the  improvised 
smoking-room,  lie  was  great  on  deer-stalking.  It  was  not  neces- 
sary for  Macleod,  or  anybody  else,  to  talk.  The  major  was  in 
full  flow,  though  he  stoutly  refused  to  touch  the  spirits  on  the  ta- 
ble.   He  wanted  a  clear  head  and  a  steady  hand  for  the  morning. 

Alas !  alas !  The  next  morning  presented  a  woful  spectacle. 
Gray  skies ;  heavy  and  rapidly  drifting  clouds ;  pouring  rain ; 
runnels  of  clear  v.'ater  by  the  side  of  every  gravel-path ;  a  rook 
or  two  battling  with  the  squally  south-wester  high  over  the  wide 
and  desolate  park ;  the  wild-ducks  at  the  margin  of  the  ruffled 
lake  flapping  their  wings  as  if  the  wet  was  too  much  even  for 
them ;  nearer  at  hand  the  firs  and  evergreens  all  dripping.  After 
breakfast  the  male  guests  wandered  disconsolately  into  the  cold 
billiard-room,  and  began  knocking  the  balls  about.  All  the  lo- 
quacious cheerfulness  of  the  major  had  fled.  He  looked  out  on 
the  wet  park  and  the  sombre  woods,  and  sighed. 

But  about  twelve  o'clock  there  was  a  great  hurry  and  confu- 
sion throughout  the  house ;  for  all  of  a  sudden  the  skies  in  the 
west  cleared ;  there  was  a  glimmer  of  blue ;  and  then  gleains  of 
a  pale  wan  light  began  to  stream  over  the  landscape.  There  was 
a  rush  to  the  gun-room,  and  an  eager  putting  on  of  shooting- 
boots  and  leggings ;  there  was  a  rapid  tying  up  of  small  packages 
of  sandwiches ;  presently  the  wagonette  was  at  the  door.  And 
then  away  they  went  over  the  hard  gravel,  and  out  into  the  wet 
roads,  with  the  sunlight  now  beginning  to  light  up  the  beautiful 
woods  about  Crawley.  The  horses  seemed  to  knovv^  there  was 
no  time  to  lose.  A  new  spirit  took  possession  of  the  party. 
Tlic  major's  face  glowed  as  red  as  the  hip  that  here  and  there 
among  the  almost  leafless  hedges  shone  in  the  sunlight  on  the 
ragged  brier  stem. 


210  MACLEOD    OF    HAKE. 

And  yet  it  -was  about  one  o'clock  before  tbe  -work  of  tlie  day 
began,  for  the  beaters  liad  to  be  summoned  frojn  various  parts, 
and  the  small  boys  with  the  white  flags — the  "stops" — had  to 
be  posted  so  as  to  check  runners.  And  then  the  six  guns  went 
down  over  a  ploughed  field — half  clay  and  half  chalk,  and  ankle 
deep  —  to  the  margin  of  a  rapidly  running  and  coffee-colored 
stream,  which  three  of  them  had  to  cross  by  means  of  a  very 
shaky  plank.  Lord  Beauregard,  Major  Stuart,  and  Maclcod  re- 
mained on  this  side,  keeping  a  look-out  for  a  straggler,  but  chief- 
ly concerned  with  the  gradually  opening  and  brightening  sky. 
Then  far  away  they  heard  a  slight  tapping  on  the  trees ;  and  al- 
most at  the  same  moment  another  sound  caused  the  hearts  of  the 
two  novices  to  jump.  It  was  a  quick  cuck-cucJc,  accompanied  by 
a  rapid  and  silken  winnowing  of  the  air.  Then  an  object,  which 
seemed  like  a  cannon-ball  with  a  long  tail  attached,  came  wliiz- 
zing  along.  Major  Stuart  fired — a  bad  miss.  Then  he  wheeled 
round,  took  good  aim,  and  down  came  a  mass  of  feathers,  whirl- 
ing, until  it  fell  motionless  on  the  ground. 

"  Well  hit !"  Maclcod  cried ;  but  at  the  same  moment  he  be- 
came conscious  that  he  had  better  mind  his  own  business,  for 
there  was  another  whirring  sound,  and  then  he  saw  this  rapidly 
enlarging  object  coming  straight  at  him.  He  fired,  and  shot  the 
bird  dead ;  but  so  rapid  v/as  its  flight  that  he  had  to  duck  his 
head  as  tlio  slain  bird  drove  past  his  face  and  tumbled  on  to  the 
g.'ound  behind  him. 

"This  is  rather  like  firing  at  bomb-shells,"  he  called  out  to 
Lord  Beauregard. 

It  was  certainly  a  nevi?  experience  for  Maclcod  to  figure  as  a 
novice  in  any  matter  connected  with  shooting;  but  both  the 
major  and  he  speedily  showed  that  they  were  not  unfamiliar  vi'ith 
the  use  of  a  gun.  Whether  the  birds  came  at  them  like  bomb- 
shells, or  sprung  like  a  sky-rocket  through  the  leafless  branches, 
they  met  with  the  same  polite  attention;  though  occasionally 
one  would  double  back  on  the  beaters  and  get  clear  away,  sailing 
far  into  the  silver-clear  sky.  Lord  Beauregard  scarcely  shot  at 
all,  unless  he  was  fairly  challenged  by  a  bird  flying  right  past 
him  :  he  seemed  quite  content  to  see  his  friends  having  plenty  of 
work;  while,  in  the  interest  of  the  beaters,  he  kept  calling  out, 
in  a  high  monotone,  "  Shoot  high !  shoot  high !"  Then  there 
was  some  motion  among  the  brushwood ;  here  and  there  a  man 


a 


■^       } 


m 

a 


CO 


iMi^Mii»»: 


IN    SUSSEX.  211 

or  boy  appeared ;  and  finally  the  under-keeper  with  his  retriever 
came  across  the  stream  to  pick  up  the  dead  birds.  That  bit  was 
done  with:  vonvdrtsf 

"  Well,  Stuart,"  Macleod  said,  "  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  I 
don't  see  anything  murderous  or  unsportsmanlike  in  this  kind  of 
shooting.  Of  course  shooting  with  dogs  is  much  prettier;  and 
you  don't  get  any  exercise  standing  in  a  wet  field  ;  but  the  in.'in 
who  says  that  shooting  those  birds  requires  no  skill  at  all — well, 
I  should  like  see  him  try." 

"  Macleod,"  said  the  major,  gravely,  as  they  plodded  along, 
"you  may  think  that  I  despise  this  kind  of  thing;  but  I  don't: 
I  give  you  my  solemn  word  of  honor  that  I  don't.  I  will  even 
go  the  length  of  saying  that  if  Providence  had  blessed  me  with 
£20,000  a  year,  I  should  be  quite  content  to  own  a  bit  of  coun- 
try like  this,  I  played  the  part  of  the  wild  mountaineer  last 
night,  you  know  ;  that  was  all  very  well — " 

Here  there  was  a  loud  call  from  Lord  Beauregard,  who  had 
overtaken  them  —  '''^ Hare !  hare!  Mark  hareP''  The  major 
jumped  round,  put  up  his  gun,  and  banged  away — shooting  far 
ahead  in  his  eagerness.  Macleod  looked  on,  and  did  not  even 
raise  his  gun. 

"That  comes  of  talking,"  the  major  said,  gloomily.  "And 
you — why  didn't  you  shoot?  I  never  sav/  you  miss  a  hare  in 
my  life." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  it,"  Macleod  said,  indifferently. 

It  was  very  soon  apparent  that  he  was  thinking  of  something 
other  than  the  shooting  of  pheasants  or  hares ;  for  as  they  went 
from  one  wood  to  another  during  this  beautiful  brief  November 
day  he  generally  carried  his  gun  over  his  shoulder — even  when 
the  whirring,  bright-plumaged  birds  Avere  starting  from  time  to 
time  from  the  hedge-rows — and  devoted  most  of  his  attention  to 
warning  his  friend  when  and  where  to  shoot.  However,  an  in- 
cident occurred  which  entirely  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs.  At 
one  beat  he  was  left  quite  alone,  posted  in  an  open  space  of  low 
brushwood  close  by  the  corner  of  a  wood.  He  rested  the  butt 
of  his  gun  on  his  foot ;  he  was  thinking,  not  of  any  pheasant  or 
hare,  but  of  the  beautiful  picture  Gertrude  White  would  make 
if  slie  were  coming  down  one  of  these  open  glades,  between  the 
green  stems  of  thQ  trees,  with  the  sunlight  around  her  and  the 
fair  sky  overhead.     Idly  he  watched  the  slowly  drifting  clouds ; 


212  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

they  were  going  away  nortliward  —  by-and-by  tlicy  would  sail 
over  London.  Tlie  rifts  of  blue  widened  in  the  clear  silver; 
surely  the  sunligbt  would  now  be  shining  over  Regent's  Park. 
Occasionally  a  pheasant  came  clattering  along ;  he  only  regarded 
the  shining  colors  of  its  head  and  neck  brilliant  in  the  sunlifrht. 
A  rabbit  trotted  by  him  ;  he  let  it  go.  But  while  he  was  stand- 
ing thus,  and  vaguely  listening  to  the  rattle  of  guns  on  the  other 
side,  he  v/as  suddenly  startled  by  a  quick  cry  of  pain  ;  and  he 
thought  he  heard  some  one  call,  "  Macleod  !  Macleod  !"  Instant- 
ly he  put  his  gun  against  a  bush,  and  ran.  lie  found  a  hedge  at 
the  end  of  the  wood ;  he  drove  through  it,  and  got  into  the  open 
field.  There  was  the  unlucky  major,  with  blood  running  down 
liis  face,  a  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  and  two  men  beside  him, 
one  of  them  offering  him  some  brandy  from  a  flask.  However, 
after  the  first  fright  was  over,  it  was  seen  that  Major  Stuart  was 
but  slightly  hurt.  The  youngest  member  of  the  party  bad  fired 
at  a  bird  coming  out  of  the  wood ;  had  missed  it ;  had  tried  to 
wheel  round  to  send  the  second  barrel  after  it ;  but  his  feet,  hav- 
ing sunk  into  the  wet  clay,  had  caught  there,  and,  in  his  stum- 
bling fall,  somehow  or  other  the  second  barrel  went  off,  one  pel- 
let just  catching  the  major  under  the  eye.  The  surface  wound 
caused  a  good  shedding  of  blood,  but  that  was  all ;  and  when  the 
major  had  got  his  face  washed  he  shouldered  his  gun  again,  and 
with  indomitable  pluck  said  he  would  see  the  thing  out.  It  was 
nothing  but  a  scratch,  he  declared.  It  might  have  been  danger- 
ous ;  but  what  was  the  good  of  considering  what  might  have 
been  ?  To  the  young  man  who  had  been  the  cause  of  tlie  acci- 
dent, and  who  was  quite  unable  to  express  his  profound  sorrow 
and  shame,  he  was  generously  considerate,  saying  that  he  had 
fined  him  in  the  sum  of  one  penny  v/hen  he  took  a  postage-stamp 
to  cover  the  wound. 

"  Lord  Beauregard,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  I  want  you  to  show 
me  a  thorough-going  hot  corner.  You  know  I  am  an  ignoramus 
of  this  kind  of  thinjx." 

"  Well,"  said  his  host,  "  there  is  a  good  bit  along  here,  if  you 
would  rather  go  on." 

"  Go  on  ?"  said  he.     "  Of  course !" 

And  it  was  a  "  hot  corner."  They  came  to  it  at  the  end  of  a 
long  double  hedge-row  connected  with  the  wood  they  had  just 
beaten ;  and  as  there  was  no  "  stop  "  at  the  corner  of  the  wood, 


IN    SUSSEX.  213 

the  j)lic.'isants  in  large  numbers  bad  ru!i  into  tbe  clianncl  between 
the  double  line  of  hedge,  llere  they  were  followed  by  the  keep- 
ers and  beaters,  who  kept  gently  driving  them  along.  Occasion- 
ally one  got  up,  and  was  instantly  knocked  over  by  one  of  the 
guns ;  but  it  was  evident  that  the  "  hot  corner  "  would  be  at  the 
end  of  this  hedge-row,  where  there  was  stationed  a  smock-frocked 
rustic  who,  dov/n  on  his  knees,  was  gently  tapping  with  a  bit  of 
stick.  The  number  of  birds  getting  up  increased,  so  that  the  six 
guns  had  pretty  sharp  work  to  reckon  with  them  ;  and  not  a  few 
of  the  wildly  V)'hirring  objects  got  clean  away  into  the  next  v/ood 
— Lord  Beauregard  all  the  time  calling  out  from  the  other  side 
of  the  hedge,  "  Shoot  high  !  shoot  high  !"  But  at  the  end  of  the 
hedge-row  an  extraordinary  scene  occurred.  One  after  the  other, 
then  in  twos  and  threes,  the  birds  sprang  high  over  the  bushes ; 
the  rattle  of  musketry — all  the  guns  being  together  now — was 
deafening;  the  air  was  filled  wdth  gunpov/der  smoke;  and  every 
second  or  two  another  bird  came  tumbling  down  on  to  the  young 
corn.  Macleod,  with  a  sort  of  derisive  laugh,  put  his  gun  over 
his  shoulder. 

"This  is  downright  stupidity,"  he  said  to  Major  Stuart,  who 
was  blazing  away  as  hard  as  ever  he  could  cram  cartridges  into 
the  hot  barrels  of  his  gun.  "  You  can't  tell  whether  you  are  hit- 
ting the  bird  or  not.  There !  Three  men  fired  at  that  bird — 
the  other  two  were  not  touched." 

The  fusillade  lasted  for  about  eight  or  ten  minutes ;  and  then 
it  was  discovered  that  though  certainly  two  or  three  hundred 
pheasants  had  got  up  at  this  corner,  only  twenty-two  and  a  half 
brace  were  killed — to  five  guns. 

"  Well,"  said  the  major,  taking  off  his  cap  and  wiping  his  fore- 
head, "  that  was  a  bit  of  a  scrimmage  !" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Macleod,  who  had  been  watching  with  some 
amusement  his  friend's  fierce  zeal  ;  "  but  it  was  not  shooting.  I 
defy  you  to  say  how  many  birds  you  shot.  Or  I  will  do  this  with 
you — I  will  bet  you  a  sovereign  that  if  you  ask  each  man  to  tell 
you  how  many  birds  he  has  shot  during  the  day,  and  add  them 
all  up,  the  total  will  be  twice  the  number  of  birds  the  keepers 
will  take  home.     But  I  am  glad  you  seem  to  enjoy  it,  Stuart." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Macleod,"  said  the  other,  "  I  think  I 
have  had  enough  of  it.  I  don't  want  to  make  a  fuss ;  but  I  fancy 
I  don't  quite  sec  clearly  with  this  eye.     It  may  be  some  slight 


214  MACLKOD    OV    DAUE. 

iiiflaniniation  ;  but  I  think  I  will  go  back  to  the  house,  and  see  if 
there's  any  surgeon  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  There  you  are  right ;  and  I  will  go  back  with  you,"  Macleod 
said,  promptly. 

When  tlieir  host  heard  of  this,  he  was  for  breaking  up  the 
party;  but  Major  Stuart  warmly  remonstrated;  and  so  one  of 
the  men  was  sent  with  the  two  friends  to  show  them  the  way 
back  to  the  house.  When  the  surgeon  came  he  examined  the 
wound,  and  pronounced  it  to  be  slight  enough  in  itself,  but  pos- 
sibly dangerous  when  so  near  so  sensitive  an  organ  as  the  eye. 
He  advised  the  major,  if  any  symptoms  of  inflammation  declared 
themselves,  to  go  at  once  to  a  skilful  oculist  in  London,  and  not 
to  leave  for  the  North  until  he  was  quite  assured. 

"  That  sounds  rather  well,  Macleod,"  said  he,  ruefully. 

"  Oh,  if  you  must  remain  in  London — though  I  hope  not — I 
will  stay  with  you,"  Macleod  said.  It  was  a  great  sacrifice,  his 
remaining  in  London,  instead  of  going  at  once  back  to  Castle 
Dare  ;  but  what  \\  ill  not  one  do  for  one's  friend  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AN    INTERVIEW. 


On  the  eventful  morning  on  which  Major  Stuart  was  to  be 
presented  to  the  chosen  bride  of  Macleod  of  Dare,  the  simple- 
hearted  soldier — notvt'ithstanding  that  he  had  a  shade  over  one 
eye  —  made  himself  exceedingly  smart.  He  would  show  the 
young  lady  that  Macleod's  friends  in  the  North  were  not  bar- 
barians. The  major  sent  back  his  boots  to  be  brushed  a  second 
time,  A  more  smoothly  fitting  pair  of  gloves  Bond  Street  never 
saw. 

"  But  you  have  not  the  air,"  said  he  to  Macleod,  "  of  a  young 
fellow  going  to  see  his  sweetheart.     What  is  the  matter,  man?" 

Macleod  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I  am  anxious  she  should  impress  you  favorably,"  said 
he,  frankly ;  "  and  it  is  an  awkward  position  for  licr — and  she 
will  be  embarrassed,  no  doubt — and  I  have  some  pity  for  her, 
and  almost  Avisli  some  other  way  had  been  taken — " 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !"  the  major  said,  cheerfully.     "  You  need  not 


AN    INTERVIEW.  215 

be  nervous  on  her  account.  Why,  man,  the  silliest  girl  in  the 
world  could  impose  on  an  old  fool  like  me.  Once  upon  a  time, 
perhaps,  I  may  have  considered  myself  a  connoisseur — well,  you 
know,  Macleod,  I  once  had  a  waist  like  the  rest  of  you  ;  but  now, 
bless  you,  if  a  tolerably  pretty  girl  only  says  a  civil  word  or  two 
to  me,  I  begin  to  regard  her  as  if  I  were  her  guardian  angel — in 
loco  xxiTentis,  and  that  kind  of  thing — and  I  would  sooner  hang 
myself  than  scan  her  dress  or  say  a  word  about  her  figure.  Do 
you  think  she  will  be  afraid  of  a  critic  with  one  eye  ?  Have  cour- 
age, man.  I  dare  bet  a  sovereign  she  is  quite  capable  of  taking 
care  of  herself.     It's  her  business." 

Macleod  flushed  quickly,  and  the  one  eye  of  the  major  caught 
that  sudden  confession  of  shame  or  resentment. 

"  What  I  meant  was,"  he  said,  instantly,  "  that  nature  had 
taught  the  simplest  of  virgins  a  certain  trick  of  fence — oh  yes, 
don't  you  be  afraid.  Embarrassment !  If  there  is  any  one  em- 
barrassed, it  will  not  be  me,  and  it  will  not  be  she.  Why,  she'll 
begin  to  wonder  whether  you  are  really  one  of  the  Macleods,  if 
you  show  yourself  nervous,  apprehensive,  frightened,  like  this." 

"  And  indeed,  Stuart,"  said  he,  rising  as  if  to  shake  off  some 
weight  of  gloomy  feeling,  "  I  scarcely  know  what  is  the  matter 
with  me.  I  ought  to  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  world ;  and 
sometimes  this  very  happiness  seems  so  great  that  it  is  like  to 
suffocate  me — I  cannot  breathe  fast  enough ;  and  then,  again,  I 
get  into  such  unreasoning  fears  and  troubles —  Well,  let  us  get 
out  into  the  fresh  air." 

The  major  carefully  smoothed  his  hat  once  more,  and  took  up 
his  cane.  He  followed  Macleod  down-stairs — like  Sancho  Panza 
waiting  on  Don  Quixote,  as  he  himself  expressed  it ;  and  then 
the  two  friends  slowly  sauntered  away  northward  on  this  fairly 
clear  and  pleasant  December  morning. 

"  Your  nerves  are  not  in  a  healthy  state,  that's  the  fact,  Mac- 
leod," said  the  major,  as  they  walked  along.  "The  climate  of 
London  is  too  exciting  for  you ;  a  good,  long,  dull  winter  in  Mull 
will  restore  your  tone.  But  in  the  mean  time  don't  cut  my 
throat,  or  your  own,  or  anybody  else's." 

"Am  I  likely  to  do  that?"  Macleod  said,  laughing. 

"  There  was  young  Bouverie,"  the  major  continued,  not  heed- 
ing the  question — "  what  a  handsome  young  fellow  he  was  when 
he  joined  us  at  Gawulpoor ! — and  he  hadn't  been  in  the  place  a 


216  MACLEOD    OF    DAKE, 

week  but  he  must  needs  go  regular  bead  over  heels  about  our 
colonel's  sister-in-law.  An  uncommon  pretty  woman  she  was, 
too — an  Irish  girl,  and  fond  of  riding ;  and  dash  me  if  that  fel- 
low didn't  fairly  try  to  break  his  neck  again  and  again  just  that 
she  should  admire  his  pluck !  lie  was  as  mad  as  a  hatter  about 
her.  Well,  one  day  two  or  three  of  us  had  been  riding  for  two  or 
three  hours  on  a  blazing  hot  morning,  and  we  came  to  one  of  the 
irrigation  reservoirs — big  wells,  you  know — and  what  does  he  do 
but  offer  to  bet  twenty  pounds  he  would  dive  into  the  well  and 
swim  about  for  ten  minutes,  till  we  hoisted  him  out  at  the  end 
of  the  rope.  I  forgot  who  took  the  bet,  for  none  of  us  thought 
he  would  do  it:  but  I  believe  he  would  have  done  anything  so 
that  the  story  of  his  pluck  would  be  carried  to  the  girl,  don't  you 
know.  AVell,  off  went  his  clothes,  and  in  he  jumped  into  the 
ice-cold  water.  Nothing  would  stop  him.  But  at  the  end  of 
the  ten  minutes,  when  we  hoisted  up  the  rope,  there  was  no 
Bouverie  there.  It  appeared  that  on  clinging  on  to  the  rope  he 
had  twisted  it  somehow,  and  suddenly  found  himself  about  to 
have  his  neck  broken,  so  he  had  to  shake  himself  free  and  plunge 
into  the  water  again.  When  at  last  we  got  him  out,  he  had  had 
a  longer  bath  than  he  had  bargained  for ;  but  there  was  appar- 
ently nothing  the  matter  with  him — and  he  had  won  the  mon- 
ey, and  there  would  be  a  talk  about  him.  However,  two  days 
afterward,  when  he  was  at  dinner,  he  suddenly  felt  as  though  he 
had  got  a  blow  on  the  back  of  his  head — so  he  told  us  afterward 
— and  fell  back  insensible.  That  was  the  beginning  of  it.  It 
took  him  five  or  six  years  to  shake  off  the  effects  of  that  dip — " 

"And  did  she  marry  him,  after  all?"  Macleod  said,  eagerly. 

"  Oh  dear,  no  !  I  think  he  had  been  invalided  home  not  more 
than  two  or  three  months  when  she  married  Connolly,  of  the 
Seventy-first  Madras  Infantry.  Then  she  ran  away  from  him 
with  some  civilian  fellow,  and  Connolly  blew  his  brains  out. 
That,"  said  the  major,  honestly,  "  is  always  a  puzzle  to  me.  How 
a  fellow  can  be  such  an  ass  as  to  blow  his  brains  out  when  his 
wife  runs  away  from  him  beats  my  comprehension  altogether. 
Now  what  I  would  do  would  be  this :  I  would  thank  goodness  I 
was  rid  of  such  a  piece  of  baggage ;  I  would  get  all  the  good  fel- 
lows I  know,  and  give  them  a  rattling  fine  dinner ;  and  I  would 
drink  a  bumper  to  her  hcfllth  and  another  bumper  to  her  never 
cominfj  back." 


AN    INTKKVIEW,  217 

"And  I  would  send  you  our  Donald,  and  lie  would  play,  '  Cha 
till  nu  tuilicli'  for  you,"  Macleod  said. 

"  But  as  for  blowing  my  brains  out !  Well,"  the  major  added, 
with  a  philosophic  air,  "  when  a  man  is  mad  he  cares  neither  for 
ids  own  life  nor  for  anybody  else's.  Look  at  those  cases  you 
continually  see  in  the  papers :  a  young  man  is  in  love  with  a 
young  woman ;  they  quarrel,  or  she  prefers  some  one  else ;  what 
does  he  do  but  lay  hold  of  her  some  evening  and  cut  her  throat 
— to  show  his  great  love  for  her — and  then  he  coolly  gives  him- 
self up  to  the  police,  and  says  he  is  quite  content  to  be  hanged." 

"  Stuart,"  said  Macleod,  laughing,  "  I  don't  like  this  talk  about 
iiangiiig.     You  said  a  minute  or  two  ago  that  I  was  mad." 

"  More  or  less,"  observed  the  major,  with  absolute  gravity ;  "  as 
the  lawyer  said  when  he  mentioned  the  Fifteen -acres  park  at 
Dublin." 

"  Well,  let  us  get  into  a  hansom,"  Macleod  said.  "  When  I 
am  hanged  you  will  ask  them  to  write  over  my  tombstone  that  I 
never  kept  anybody  waiting  for  eitlscr  luncheon  or  dinner." 

The  trim  maid-servant  who  opened  the  door  greeted  Macleod 
with  a  pleasant  smile :  she  was  a  sharp  wench,  and  had  discovered 
that  lovers  have  lavish  hands.  She  showed  the  two  visitors  into 
the  drawing-room  ;  Macleod  silent,  and  listening  intentlv  :  the  one- 
eyed  major  observing  everything,  and  perhaps  curious  to  know 
whether  the  house  of  an  actress  differed  from  that  of  anybody 
else.  He  very  speedily  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  in  his  small 
experience,  he  had  never  seen  any  house  of  its  size  so  tastefully 
decorated  and  accurately  managed  as  this  simple  home. 

"  But  what's  this  1"  he  cried,  going  to  the  mantel-piece  and  tak- 
ing down  a  drawing  that  was  somewhat  ostentatiously  placed 
there.  "  Well !  If  this  is  English  hospitality!  By  Jove  !  an  in- 
sult to  me,  and  my  father,  and  my  father's  clan,  that  blood  alone 
will  wipe  out.  '  The  Astonishment  of  Sandy  MacAlister  Mhor  on 
beholding  a  Glimpse  of  Sunlight.'     Look  !" 

He  showed  tliis  rude  drawinfj  to  Macleod — a  sketch  of  a  wild 
Highlander,  with  his  hair  on  end,  his  eyes  starting  out  of  his 
head,  and  his  hands  uplifted  in  bewilderment.  This  work  of  art 
was  the  production  of  Miss  Carry,  who,  on  hearing  the  knock  at 
the  door,  had  whipped  into  the  room,  placed  her  bit  of  savage 
satire  over  the  mantel-piece,  and  whipped  out  again.  But  licr 
deadly  malice  so  far  failed  of  its  purpose  that,  instead  of  inflict- 

10 


218  MACLEOD    OF   DARE. 

ing  any  annoyance,  it  most  effectually  broke  the  crabarrassraent 
of  Miss  Gertrude's  entrance  and  introduction  to  the  major. 

"Carry  has  no  great  love  for  the  Highlands,"  sJie  said,  laugh- 
ing and  slightly  blushing  at  the  same  time ;  "  but  she  need  not 
liave  prepared  so  cruel  a  welcome  for  you.  Won't  yon  sit  down, 
Major  Stuart  ?     Papa  will  be  here  directly." 

"I  think  it  is  uncommonly  clever,"  the  major  said,  fixing  his 
one  eye  on  the  paper  as  if  he  Avould  give  Miss  White  distinctly 
to  understand  that  he  had  not  come  to  stare  at  her.  "  Perhaps 
she  will  like  us  better  when  she  knows  more  about  us." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Miss  White,  demurely,  "  that  it  is  possi- 
ble for  any  one  born  in  the  Soutli  to  learn  to  like  the  bagpipes  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Macleod,  quickly — and  it  was  not  usual  for  him  to 
break  in  in  this  eager  way  about  a  usual  matter  of  talk — "  that  is 
all  a  question  of  association.  If  you  had  been  brought  up  to  as- 
sociate the  sound  of  the  pipes  with  every  memorable  thing — with 
the  sadness  of  a  funeral,  and  the  welcome  of  friends  come  to  see 
you,  and  the  pride  of  going  away  to  war — tlien  you  would  un- 
derstand why  '  Lord  Lovat's  Lament,'  or  the  '  Farewell  to  Gibi-al- 
tar,'  or  the  'Heights  of  Alma' — why  these  bring  the  tears  to  a 
Highlander's  eyes.  The  pibrochs  preserve  our  legends  for  ns," 
he  went  on  to  say,  in  rather  an  excited  fasliion,  for  he  was  obvi- 
ously nervous,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  paler  than  usual.  "  They  re- 
mind us  of  what  our  families  have  done  in  all  parts  of  the  world; 
and  there  is  not  one  yon  do  not  associate  with  some  friend  or 
relative  who  is  gone  away,  or  with  some  great  merry-making,  or 
with  the  death  of  one  who  w^as  dear  to  you.  You  never  saw  that 
— the  boat  taking  the  coffin  across  the  loch,  and  the  friends  of 
the  dead  sitting  Avith  bowed  heads,  and  the  piper  at  the  bow 
playing  the  slow  Lament  to  the  time  of  the  oai-s.  If  you  had 
seen  that,  you  would  know  wliat  the  '  Cumbadh  na  Cloinne '  is  to 
a  Highlander.  And  if  you  have  a  friend  come  to  see  you,  what 
is  it  first  tells  you  of  his  coming?  When  you  can  hear  nothing 
for  the  waves,  you  can  hear  the  pipes  I  And  if  you  were  going 
into  a  battle,  what  would  put  madness  into  your  liead  but  to  hear 
the  march  that  you  know  your  brothers  and  uncles  and  cousins 
last  heard  when  they  marched  on  with  a  cheer  to  take  death  as  it 
happened  to  come  to  them  ?  You  might  as  Avell  wonder  at  the 
Highlanders  loving  ihe  heather.  That  is  not  a  very  handsome 
llower." 


AN    INTERVIEW,  219 

Miss  Wliitc  was  sitting  quite  calm  and  collected.  A  covert 
gl'ince  or  two  had  convinced  the  major  that  she  was  entirely  mis- 
tress of  the  situation.  If  there  was  any  one  nervous,  embar- 
rassed, excited,  through  this  interview,  it  was  not  Miss  Gertrude 
White. 

"The  other  morning,"  she  said,  complacently,  and  she  pulled 
down  her  dainty  white  cuffs  another  sixteenth  of  an  inch,  "  I  was 
going  along  Buckingham  Palace  Road,  and  I  met  a  detachment 
— is  a  detachment  right.  Major  Stuart  ? — of  a  Highland  regiment. 
At  least  I  supposed  it  was  part  of  a  Highland  regiment,  because 
they  had  eight  pipers  playing  at  their  head ;  and  I  noticed  that 
the  cab  horses  were  far  more  frightened  than  they  would  have 
been  at  twice  the  noise  coming  from  an  ordinary  band.  I  was 
wondering  whether  they  might  think  it  the  roar  of  some  strange 
animal — you  know  how  a  camel  frightens  a  horse.  But  I  envied 
the  officer  who  was  riding  in  front  of  the  soldiers.  He  was  a 
very  handsome  man  ;  and  I  thought  how  proud  he  must  feel  to 
be  at  the  head  of  those  tine,  stalwart  fellows.  In  fact,  I  UAt  for 
a  moment  that  I  should  like  to  have  command  of  u  regiment 
myself." 

"Faith,"  said  the  major,  gallantly,  *' I  would  exchange  into 
tliat  regiment,  if  I  had  to  serve  as  a  drummer-boy." 

Embarrassed  by  this  broad  compliment?  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
She  laughed  lightly,  and  then  rose  to  introduce  the  two  visitors 
to  her  father,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  Mr,  White,  knowing  the  errand 
of  his  guests,  should  give  them  an  inordinately  effusive  welcome ; 
but  he  was  gravely  polite,  lie  prided  himself  on  being  a  man 
of  common-sense,  and  he  knew  it  was  no  use  fighting  against  the 
inevitable.  If  his  daughter  would  leave  the  stage,  she  would ; 
and  there  was  some  small  compensation  in  the  fact  that  by  her 
doing  so  she  would  become  Lady  Macleod.  He  would  have  less 
money  to  spend  on  trinkets  two  hundred  years  old ;  but  he 
would  gain  something  —  a  very  little,  no  doubt — from  the  re- 
flected lustre  of  her  social  position. 

"  We  were  talking  about  officers,  papa,"  she  said,  brightly, 
"  and  I  was  about  to  confess  that  I  have  always  had  a  great  liking 
for  soldiers,  I  know  if  I  had  been  a  man  I  should  have  been  a 
soldier.  But  do  you  know,  Sir  Keith,  you  were  once  very  rude 
to  me  about  your  friend  Lieutenant  Ogilvie?" 


•220  M.VCLEOD    OF    DARE. 

M;ic!eod  started, 

"  I  liope  not,"  said  lie,  gravely. 

"Oh  yes,  you  were.  Don't  you  remember  tlic  Caledonian 
Ball  ?  I  only  remarked  that  Lieutenant  Ogilvic,  who  seemed  to 
mo  a  bonnie  bov,  did  not  look  as  if  he  were  a  very  formidable 
warrior;  and  you  answered  with  some  dark  saying — what  was 
it? — that  nobody  could  tell  what  sword  was  in  a  scabbard  until 
it  was  drawn  1" 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  laughing  somewhat  nervously,  "  you  forget :  1 
was  talkinjT  to  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire." 

"And  I  am  sure  her  Grace  was  much  obliged  to  you  lOr  fright- 
ening her  so,"  Miss  White  said,  with  a  dainty  smile. 

Major  Stuart  was  greatly  pleased  by  the  appearance  and  charm- 
ing manner  of  this  young  lady.  If  Maclcod,  who  was  confessed- 
ly a  handsome  young  fellow,  had  searched  all  over  England,  he 
could  not  have  chosen  a  fitter  mate.  But  he  was  also  distinctly 
of  opinion — judging  by  his  one  eye  only — that  nobody  needed 
to  be  alarmed  about  this  young  lady's  exceeding  sensitiveness 
and  embarrassment  before  strangers.  He  thought  she  would  on 
all  occasions  be  fairly  capable  of  holding  her  own.  And  he  was 
quite  convinced,  too,  that  the  beautiful  clear  eyes,  under  the  long 
lashes,  pretty  accurately  divined  what  was  going  forward.  But 
what  did  tliis  impression  of  the  honest  soldier's  amount  to? 
Only,  in  other  words,  that  Miss  Gertrude  White,  although  a  pretty 
woman,  was  not  a  fool. 

Luncheon  was  announced,  and  they  went  into  the  other  room, 
accompanied  by  Miss  Carry,  who  had  suffered  herself  to  be  intro- 
duced to  Major  Stuart  with  a  certain  proud  sedateness.  And 
now  the  major  played  the  part  of  the  accepted  lover's  friend  to 
perfection.  lie  sat  next  Miss  AVhite  herself;  and  no  matter 
what  the  talk  was  about,  he  managed  to  bring  it  round  to  some- 
thing that  redounded  to  Maclcod's  advantage.  Macleod  could  do 
this,  and  Macleod  could  do  that ;  it  was  all  Macleod,  and  Mac- 
leod, and  Macleod. 

"  And  if  you  should  ever  come  to  our  part  of  the  world.  Miss 
White,"  said  the  major— not  letting  his  glance  meet  hers—"  you 
will  be  able  to  understand  something  of  the  old  loyalty  and  af- 
fection and  devotion  the  people  in  the  Highlands  showed  to  their 
chiefs;  for  1  don't  believe  there  is  a  man,  woman,  or  child  about 
the  place   who   would   not  rather  have  a  hand  cut  off  than  that 


AN    INTERVIEW.  _  221 

Macleod  slioulJ  have  a  thorn  scratch  him.  And  it  is  all  tlie  more 
sin2;'iilar,  you  know,  that  tlicy  are  not  Macleods.  Mull  is  the 
country  of  the  Macleans ;  and  the  Macleans  and  the  Macleods 
had  their  fights  in  former  times.  There  is  a  cave  they  will  show 
you  round  the  point  from  Ru,  na  Gaul  light-house  that  is  called 
Uamh-na-Ceann  —  that  is,  the  Cavern  of  the  Skulls  —  where  the 
Macleods  murdered  fifty  of  the  Macleans,  though  Alastair  Cro- 
tach,  the  humpbacked  son  of  Macleod,  was  himself  killed." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Major  Stuart,"  said  Miss  Carrj^,  with  a 
grand  statcliuess  in  her  tone,  "but  will  you  allow  me  to  ask  if 
this  is  true  ?  It  is  a  passage  I  saw  quoted  in  a  book  the  other 
day,  and  I  copied  it  out.  It  says  something  about  the  character 
of  the  people  you  are  talking  about." 

She  handed  him  the  bit  of  paper;  and  he  read  these  words: 
"  Treu)  it  is,  that  thir  Ilandish  men  ar  of  nature  verie  prowd,  sus- 
picious, avaricious,  full  of  decept  and  evill  inventioun  each  aganis 
his  ni/chtbour,  he  ivhat  way  soever  he  may  circumvin  him.  Be- 
sydis  all  this,  they  ar  sa  creioall  in  talcing  of  revenge  that  nather 
have  they  regard  to  person,  cage,  tyme,  or  caus  ;  sa  ar  they  gener^ 
allie  all  sa  far  addictit  to  thair  awin  tyrannica.il  opinions  that, 
in  all  respects,  they  exceed  in  creiveltie  the  maist  barbarous  people 
that  ever  hes  bene  sen  the  begynning  of  the  ivarldy 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  the  honest  major,  "it  is  a  most  formi- 
dable indictment.     You  had  better  ask  Sir  Keith  about  it." 

lie  lianded  the  paper  across  the  table ;  Macleod  read  it,  and 
burst  out  lauiihino;. 

"It  is  too  true.  Carry,"  said  he.  "Wc  arc  a  dreadful  lot  of 
people  up  there  among  the  hills.  Nothing  but  murder  and  rap- 
ine from  morning  till  night." 

"  I  was  telling  him  this  morning  lie  would  probably  be  liang- 
cd,"  observed  the  major,  gravely. 
-    "For  what?"  Miss  White  asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  major,  carelessly,  "  I  did  not  specify  the  of- 
fence.    Cattle-lifting,  probably." 

Miss  Carry's  fierce  onslaught  was  thus  laughed  away,  and  they 
proceeded  to  other  matters;  the  major  meanwhile  not  failing  to 
remark  that  this  luncheon  differed  considerably  from  the  bread- 
and-cliecse  and  glass  of  whiskey  of  a  shooting-day  in  Mull.  Then 
they  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and  had  tea  there,  and  some 
further  talk.     The  major  had  by  this  time  quite  abandoned  his 


222  MACLEOD    OK    DARE. 

critical  and  observa!it  attitude.  lie  had  succumbed  to  tlic  en- 
chantress, lie  was  ready  to  declare  that  Gertrude  White  was 
the  most  fascinating  woman  he  had  ever  met,  while,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  she  had  been  rather  timidly  making  suggestions  and  ask- 
ing his  opinion  all  the  time.  And  when  they  rose  to  leave,  she 
said, 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  Major  Stuart,  that  this  unfortunate  accident 
should  have  altered  your  plans ;  but  since  you  must  remain  in 
London,  1  hope  we  shall  see  you  often  before  you  go." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  be. 

"We  cannot  ask  you  to  dine  with  us,"  slie  said,  quite  simply 
and  frankly,  "because  of  my  engagements  in  the  evening;  but 
we  are  always  at  home  at  lunch-time,  and  Sir  Keith  knows  the 
way." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  major,  as  he  warmly  pressed 
her  hand. 

The  two  friends  passed  out  into  the  street. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  major,  "  you  have  been  lucky — 
don't  imagine  I  am  humbugging  you.  A  really  handsome  lass, 
and  a  thorough  woman  of  the  world,  too — trained  and  fitted  at 
every  point ;  none  of  your  farm-yard  beauties.  But  I  say,  Mac- 
leod — I  say,"  he  continued,  solemnly,  "won't  she  find  it  a  trifle 
dull  at  Castle  Dare  ? — the  change,  you  know." 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  she  should  live  at  Dare,"  Macleod 
said. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  you  know  your  own  plans  best." 

"  I  have  none.  All  that  is  in  the  air  as  yet.  And  so  you  do 
not  think  I  have  made  a  mistake." 

"I  wish  I  was  five  and-twcnty,  and  could  make  a  mistake  like 
that,"  said  the  major,  with  a  sigh. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Carry  had  confronted  her  sister. 

"  So  you  have  been  inspected,  Gerty.  Do  you  think  you 
passed  muster  ?" 

"Go  away,  and  don't  be  impertinent,  you  silly  girl!"  said  the 
other,  good-naturedly. 

Carry  pulled  a  folded  piece  o.  paper  from  her  pocket,  and,  ad- 
vancing, placed  it  on  the  table. 

"  There,"  said  she,  "  put  that  in  your  purse,  and  don't  tell  me 
you  have  not  been  warned,  Gertrude  White." 

The  elder  sister  did  as  she  was  bid ;  but  indeed  she  w'as  not 


AT    A    RAILWAY    STATION',  223 

tliinlciiifx  nt  that  moment  of  tlic  cruel  and  rcven^'cful  cliaracter  of 
the  AVestcrn  Iliglilanders,  which  Miss  Carry's  quotation  set  forth 
in  such  plain  terms.  She  was  thinking  that  she  had  never  be- 
fore seen  Glenosjie  look  so  soldier-like  and  handsome. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

AT    A    RAILWAY    STATION. 


The  few  days  of  grace  obtained  by  the  accident  that  happened 
to  Major  Stuart  fled  too  quickly  away,  and  ihe  time  came  for  say- 
ing farewell.  With  a  dismal  apprehension  Macleod  looked  for- 
ward to  this  moment.  lie  had  seen  her  on  the  stage  bid  a  pa- 
thetic good-bye  to  her  lover,  and  there  it  was  beautiful  enough — 
with  her  shy  coquetries,  and  her  winning  ways,  and  the  timid,  re- 
luctant confession  of  her  love.  But  there  was  notliino;  at  all 
beautiful  about  this  ordeal  through  which  he  must  pass.  It  was 
harsh  and  horrible.     lie  trembled  even  as  he  thought  of  it. 

The  last  day  of  his  stay  in  London  arrived;  he  rose  with  a 
sense  of  some  awful  doom  han2;inof  over  him  that  he  could  in 
nov/ise  shake  off.  It  was  a  strange  day,  too — the  world  of  Lon- 
don vaguely  shining  through  a  pale  fog,  the  sun  a  globe  of  red 
fire.  There  was  hoar-frost  on  the  window-ledges ;  at  last  the  win- 
ter seemed  about  to  begin. 

And  then,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  Miss  White  had  some  im- 
portant business  at  the  theatre  to  attend  to,  so  that  she  could 
not  see  him  till  the  afternoon ;  and  ho  had  to  pass  the  empty 
morning  somehow. 

"  You  look  like  a  man  going  to  be  hanged,"  said  the  major, 
about  noon.  "  Come,  shall  we  stroll  down  to  the  rWey  now  ? 
We  can  have  a  chat  with  your  friend  before  lunch,  and  a  look 
over  his  boat." 

Colonel  Ross,  being  by  chance  at  Erith,  had  heard  of  Mac- 
leod's  being  in  town,  and  had  immediately  come  up  in  his  little 
steam-yacht,  the  Iris,  Avhieh  now  lay  at  anchor  close  to  AVest- 
minster  Bridge,  on  the  Lambctli  side.  lie  had  proposed,  merely 
for  the  oddity  of  the  thing,  that  Macleod  and  his  friend  the  major 
should  lunch  on  board,  and  young  Ogilvie  had  promised  to  run 
up  from  Aldershot. 


221  MACLEOD    OF    UAUE. 

"  Maclcod,"  said  the  gallant  soldier,  as  the  two  friends  walked 
leisurely  down  toward  the  Thames,  "  if  you  lot  this  monomania 
got  such  a  hold  of  you,  do  you  know  how  it  will  end?  You  will 
beo-in  to  show  sic;ns  of  having  a  conscience." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  he,  absently. 

"  Your  nervous  system  will  break  down,  and  you  will  begin  to 
liavo  a  conscience.  That  is  a  sure  sign,  in  cither  a  n}an  or  a  na- 
tion. Man,  don't  I  see  it  all  around  us  now  in  this  way  of  look- 
ino:  at  India  and  the  colonies !  We  had  no  conscience — we  wore 
in  robust  liealth  as  a  nation — when  wc  thrashed  the  French  out 
of  Canada,  and  seized  India,  and  stole  land  just  wherever  we 
could  put  our  fingers  on  it  all  over  the  globe;  but  now  it  is  quite 
different ;  we  are  only  educating  these  countries  up  to  self-gov- 
ernment; it  is  all  in  the  interest  of  morality  that  we  protect 
them  ;  as  soon  as  they  wish  to  go  we  will  give  them  our  blessing 
— in  short,  we  have  got  a  conscience,  because  the  national  health 
is  feeble  and  nervous.  You  look  out,  or  you  will  get  into  the 
same  condition.  You  will  begin  to  ask  whether  it  is  right  to 
shoot  pretty  little  birds  in  order  to  eat  them ;  you  will  become  a 
vegetarian  ;  and  you  will  take  to  goloshes." 

"  Good  gracious !"  said  Macleod,  waking  up,  "  what  is  all  this 
about  ?" 

"  Kob  Roy,"  observed  the  major,  oracularly,  "  was  a  healthy 
man.  I  will  make  you  a  bet  he  was  not  much  troubled  by  chil- 
blains." 

"  Stuart,"  Macleod  cried,  "  do  you  want  to  drive  me  mad? 
What  on  earth  are  vou  talking  about?" 

"Anything,"  the  major  confessed,  frankly,  "  to  rouse  you  out 
of  your  monomania,  because  I  don't  want  to  have  my  throat  cut 
by  a  lunatic  some  night  up  at  Castle  Dare." 

"  Castle  Dare,"  repeated  Maclcod,  gloomily.  "  I  think  I  shall 
scarcely  know  the  place  again ;  and  we  have  been  away  about  a 
fortnight !" 

No  sooner  had  they  got  down  to  the  landing-steps  on  the 
Lambeth  side  of  the  river  than  they  were  descried  from  the  deck 
of  the  beautiful  little  steamer,  and  a  boat  was  sent  ashore  for 
them.  Colonel  Ross  was  standing  by  the  tiny  gangway  to  re- 
ceive them.  They  got  on  board,  and  passed  into  the  glass-sur- 
rounded saloon.  There  certainly  was  something  odd  in  the  no- 
tion of  being  anchored  in  the  middle  of  the  great  city — abso- 


AT    A     RAILWAY    STATION.  225 

lately  cut  off  from  it,  ;uid  enclosed  in  a  iiiiniaturc  floating  world, 
tlie  very  sound  of  it  Inislicd  and  remote.  And,  indeed,  on  this 
strange  morning  the  big  town  looked  more  drcum-like  than  usual 
as  they  regarded  it  from  tlie  windows  of  this  saloon — the  build- 
ings opal-like  in  the  p:tlc  fog,  a  dusky  glitter  on  the  high  towers 
of  the  Houses  of  I'arliament,  and  some  touches  of  rose  red  on  the 
ripples  of  the  yellow  water  around  them. 

Right  over  there  was  the  very  spot  to  which  he  had  idly  wan- 
dered in  the  clear  dawn  to  have  a  look  at  the  peacefully  flowing 
stream.  How  long  ago  ?  It  seemed  to  him,  looking  back,  some- 
how the  morning  of  life — shining  clear  and  beautiful,  before  any 
sombre  anxieties  and  joys  scar-cely  less  painful  had  come  to  cloud 
the  fair  sky.  He  thought  of  himself  at  that  time  with  a  sort  of 
wonder.  He  saw  himself  standing  there,  glad  to  watch  the  pale 
and  glowing  glory  of  the  dawn,  careless  as  to  what  the  day  might 
bring  forth ;  and  he  knew  that  it  was  another  and  an  irrecover- 
able Macleod  he  was  mentally  regarding. 

Well,  when  liis  friend  Ogilvie  arrived,  he  endeavored  to  as- 
sume some  greater  spii  it  and  cheerfulness,  and  they  had  a  pleas- 
ant enough  luncheon  party  in  the  gently  moving  saloon.  There- 
after Colonel  Ross  was  for  getting  up  steam  and  taking  them  for 
a  run  somewhere ;  but  at  this  point  Macleod  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused for  running  away;  and  so,  having  consigned  Major  Stuart 
to  the  care  of  his  host  for  the  moment,  and  having  bade  good-bye 
to  Ogilvie,  he  went  ashore.  He  made  his  way  np  to  the  cottage 
in  South  Bank.  He  entered  the  drawing-room  and  sat  down, 
alone. 

When  she  came  in,  she  said,  with  a  quick  anxiety,  "You  are 
not  ill  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  rising,  and  Ids  face  was  haggard  somewhat ; 
"  but — but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  come  to  say  good-bye — " 

"  You  must  not  take  it  so  seriously  as  that,"  she  said,  with  a 
friendly  smile. 

"  My  going  away  is  like  going  into  a  grave,"  he  said,  slowlv\ 
"  It  is  dark."' 

And  then  he  took  her  two  hands  in  his,  and  regarded  her  with 
such  an  intensity  of  look  that  she  almost  drew  back,  afraid. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  said,  watching  her  eyes,  "  I  think  I  shall  never 
see  you  again." 

*'  Oh,  Keith,"  said  she,  drawing  her  hands  away,  and  speaking 

id* 


220  MACLEOD    OF    UAllE. 

half  playfully,  "  you  really  frighten  me !  And  even  if  you  were 
never  to  see  nie  aixain,  wouldn't  it  be  a  verv  ffoud  thino-  for  vou? 
You  would  have  got  rid  of  a  bad  bargain." 

"  It  would  not  be  a  very  good  thing  for  me,"  he  said,  still  re- 
garding her. 

"  Oh,  well,  don't  speak  of  it,"  said  she,  lightly  ;  "  let  us  speak 
of  all  that  is  to  be  done  in  the  long  time  that  must  pass  before 
we  meet — " 

"  But  why  '  must?''  "  he  said,  eagerly — "  why  '  must  T  If  you 
knew  how  I  look  forward  to  the  blackness  of  this  winter  away  up 
there  —  so  far  away  from  you  that  I  shall  forget  the  sound  of 
vonr  voice — oh!  vou  cannot  know  what  it  is  to  me?" 

He  had  sat  down  again,  his  eyes,  with  a  sort  of- pained  and 
hunted  look  in  them,  bent  on  the  Hoor. 

"But  there  is  a  '' must^  you  know,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  "  and 
we  ought  to  be  sensible  folk  and  recognize  it.     You  know  I  ouglit 

o  or? 

to  have  a  probationary  period,  as  it  were — like  a  nun,  you  know, 
just  to  see  if  she  is  fit  to — " 

Here  Miss  White  paused,  with  a  little  embarrassment ;  but 
presently  she  charged  the  difficulty,  and  said,  with  a  slight  laugh, 

"  To  take  the  veil,  in  fact.  You  must  give  me  time  to  become 
accustomed  to  a  whole  lieap  of  things :  if  we  were  to  do  anything 
suddenly  now,  we  might  blunder  into  some  great  mistake,  per- 
haps irretrievable.  I  must  train  myself  by  degrees  for  another 
kind  of  life  altogether;  and  I  am  going  to  surprise  you,  Keith — 
I  am  indeed.  If  papa  takes  me  to  tlie  Highlands  next  year,  you 
won't  recognizo  m:*  at  all.  I  am  going  to  read  up  all  about  the 
Highlands,  and  learn  the  tartans,  and  the  names  of  fishes  and 
birds;  and  T  will  walk  in  the  rain  and  try  to  think  nothing  about 
it;  and  perhaps  I  may  learn  a  little  Gaelic:  indeed,  Keith,  when 
you  see  me  in  the  Highlands,  you  will  find  me  a  thorough  High- 
land-woman." 

"You  will  never  become  a  Highland-woman,"  he  said,  with  a 
grave  kindness.  "  Is  it  needful  ?  I  would  rather  see  you  as  you 
are  than  playing  a  part." 

Her  eyes  expressed  some  quick  wonder,  for  lie  had  almost 
quoted  her  father's  vv'ords  to  her. 

"  You  would  rather  see  me  as  I  am  ?"  she  said,  demurely.  "  But 
what  am  I  ?     I  don't  know  myself." 

"You  arc  a  beautiful  and  gentle-hearted  Englishwoman,"  he 


AT    A    RAILWAY    STATION.  227 

said,  with  honest  admiration — "  a  daughter  of  the  South.  Why 
sliould  you  wish  to  be  anytliing  else?  When  you  come  to  us,  I 
will  show  you  a  true  Ilighlaud-womau — that  is,  my  cousin  Janet." 

"  Now  you  have  spoiled  all  my  ambition,"  she  said,  somewhat 
petulantly.  "  I  had  intended  spending  all  the  v.'inter  in  training 
myself  to  forget  the  habits  and  feelings  of  an  actress,  and  I  was 
going  to  educate  myself  for  another  kind  of  life;  and  now  I  find 
that  when  I  go  to  the  Highlands  you  will  compare  nie  with  your 
cousin  Janet!" 

"  That  is  impossible,"  said  he,  absently,  for  he  was  thinking  of 
the  time  when  the  summer  seas  would  be  blue  again,  and  the 
winds  soft,  and  the  sky  clear;  and  then  he  saw  the  white  boat  of 
the  Umpire  going  merrily  out  to  the  great  steamer  to  bring  the 
beautiful  stranger  from  the  South  to  Castle  Dare ! 

"  x\h,  well,  I  am  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you  on  this  our  last 
day  together,"  she  said,  and  she  gently  placed  her  soft  white  hand 
on  the  clinched  fist  that  rested  on  the  table.  "  I  see  you  are  in 
great  trouble — I  wish  I  could  lessen  it.  And  yet  how  could  I 
wish  that  you  could  think  of  me  less,  even  during  the  long  winter 
evenings,  when  it  will  be  so  much  more  lonely  for  you  than  for 
me  ?  But  you  must  leave  me  my  hobby  all  the  same ;  and  you 
must  think  of  me  always  as  preparing  myself  and  looking  for- 
ward ;  for  at  least  you  know  you  will  expect  me  to  be  able  to 
sing  a  Highland  ballad  to  your  friends." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  hastily,  "  if  it  is  all  true — if  it  is  all  possi- 
ble— what  you  speak  of.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  madness  of  me 
to  fling  away  my  only  chance ;  to  have  everything  I  care  for  in 
the  world  near  me,  and  to  go  away  and  perhaps  never  return. 
Sometimes  I  know  in  my  heart  that  I  shall  never  see  you  again — 
never  after  this  day." 

"Ah,  now,"  said  she,  brightly — for  she  feared  this  black  demon 
getting  possession  of  him  again — "  I  will  kill  that  superstition 
right  olf.  You  shall  see  me  after  to-day ;  for,  as  sure  as  my 
name  is  Gertrude  White,  I  will  go  up  to  the  railway  station  to- 
morrow morning  and  see  you  off.     There  !" 

"You  will?"  he  said, with  a  flush  of  joy  on  his  face. 

"  But  I  don't  want  any  one  else  to  see  me,"  she  said,  looking 
down. 

"  Oh,  I  will  manage  that,"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  I  will  get  Major 
Stuai"t  into  the  carriagQ  ten  minutes  before  the  train  starts." 


228  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"Colonel  Ross?" 

"  lie  goes  back  to  Erith  to-night." 

"And  I  will  bring  to  the  station,"  said  she,  with  some  shy  color 
in  hei"  face,  "  a  little  present — if  yoii  should  speak  of  me  to  your 
jnother,  you  might  give  her  this  from  me ;  it  belonged  to  my 
mother." 

Could  anything  have  been  more  delicately  devised  than  this 
tender  and  timid  message  ? 

"  You  have  a  woman's  heart,"  he  said. 

And  then  in  the  same  low  voice  she  began  to  explain  that  she 
would  like  him  to  go  to  the  theatre  that  evening,  and  that  per- 
haps he  would  go  alone ;  and  Avould  he  do  her  the  favor  to  be 
in  a  particular  box  ?  She  took  a  piece  of  paper  from  her  purse, 
and  shyly  handed  it  to  him.  How  could  he  refuse  ? — though  he 
flushed  slightly.  It  was  a  favor  she  asked.  "  I  will  know  where 
you  are,"  she  said. 

And  so  he  was  not  to  bid  good-bye  to  her  on  this  occasion, 
after  all.  But  he  bade  good-bye  to  Mr.  White,  and  to  Miss  Carry, 
who  w'as  quite  civil  to  him  now  that  he  was  going  away ;  and 
then  he  went  out  into  the  cold  and  gray  December  afternoon. 
They  were  lighting  the  lamps.  But  gas-light  throws  no  cheer- 
fulness on  a  grave. 

He  went  to  the  theatre  later  on ;  and  the  talisman  she  had 
given  him  took  him  into  a  box  almost  level  with  the  stage,  and 
so  near  to  it  that  the  glare  of  the  foot-lights  bewildered  his  eyes, 
until  he  retired  into  the  corner.  And  once  more  he  saw^  the  pup- 
pets come  and  go,  with  the  one  live  Avoman  among  them  whose 
every  tone  of  voice  made  his  heart  leap.  And  then  this  drawing- 
room  scene,  in  which  she  comes  in  alone,  and  talking  to  herself? 
She  sits  down  to  the  piano  carelessly.  Some  one  enters  nnper- 
ceived,  and  stands  silent  there,  to  listen  to  the  singing.  And  this 
air  that  she  sings,  waywardly,  like  a  light-hearted  school-girl: 

"  ni-ri-libhin  o,     Brae  Maclntyre, 
Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Costly  thy  wooing ! 

Thou'st  slain  the  maid. 
Hug-o-rin-o,        'Tis  thy  undoing ! 
Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Friends  of  my  love, 
ni-ri-libhin  o,     Do  not  upbraid  him ; 

He  was  leal. 
Hug-o-rin-o,        Chance  betrayed  him." 


AT    A    RAILWAY    STATION.  229 

Maclcocrs  breathing  came  quick  and  hard.  She  had  not  sung 
this  baUad  of  tlic  brave  Maclntvre  wlicn  fornierlv  he  had  seen 
the  piece.  Did  she  merely  wish  him  to  know,  by  this  arch  ren- 
dering of  the  gloomy  song,  that  she  was  pursuing  her  Highland 
studies?  And  then  the  last  verse  she  sanff  in  the  Gaelic!  He 
was  so  near  that  he  could  hear  this  adjuration  to  the  unhappy 
lover  to  seek  his  boat  and  fly,  stecriag  wide  of  Jura  and  avoiding 

Mull : 

"  ni-ri-libhin  o,     Buin  Bata, 
Ili-ii-libhin  o,     F^g  an  duthaich, 

Seachaiu  Mule, 
Hug-o-rin-o :       Sua  taodh  Jura !" 

Was  she  laughing,  then,  at  her  pronunciation  of  the  Gaelic  when 
she  carelessly  rose  from  the  piano,  and,  in  doing  so,  directed  one 
glance  toward  him  which  made  him  quail  ?  The  foolish  piece 
went  on.  She  v.- as  more  bright,  vivacious,  coquettish,  than  ever : 
how  could  she  have  such  spirits  in  view  of  the  long  separation 
that  lay  on  his  lieart  like  lead?  Then,  at  the  end  of  the  piece, 
there  was  a  tapping  at  the  door,  and  an  envelope  was  handed  in 
to  him.  It  only  contained  a  card,  with  the  message,  "Good- 
night!" scrawled  in  pencil.  It  was  the  last  time  he  ever  was  in 
any  theatre. 

Then  that  next  morning  —  cold  and  raw  and  damp,  with  a 
blustering  north-west  wind  that  seemed  to  bring  an  angry  sum- 
mons from  the  far  seas.  At  the  station  his  hand  was  trembling 
like  the  hand  of  a  drunken  man ;  his  eyes  wild  and  troubled ; 
his  face  hao-o-ard.  And  as  the  moment  arrived  for  the  train  to 
start,  he  became  more  and  more  excited. 

"  Come  and  take  your  place,  Macleod,"  the  major  said.  "  There 
is  no  use  worrying  about  leaving.  We  have  eaten  our  cake. 
The  frolic  is  at  an  end.  All  we  can  do  is  to  sing, '  Then  fare  you 
v>cll,  my  Mary  Blane,'  and  put  np  with  whatever  is  ahead.  If  I 
could  only  have  a  drop  of  real,  genuine  Talisker  to  steady  my 
nerves — " 

liut  here  the  major,  who  had  been  incidentally  leaning  out  of 
the  window,  caught  sight  of  a  figure,  and  instantly  lie  withdrew 
liis  h"    !.     Macleod  disappeared. 

That  great,  gaunt  room — with  the  hollow  foot-falls  of  strangers, 
and  the  cries  outside.  His  face  was  quite  white  when  he  took 
her  hand. 


230  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  I  am  very  late,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

lie  could  not  speak  at  all.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  hers  with  a 
strange  intensity,  as  if  he  vvould  read  her  very  soul ;  and  what 
could  one  find  there  but  a  great  gentleness  and  sincerity,  and  the 
frank  confidence  of  one  who  had  nothing  to  conceal  ? 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he  at  last,  "  whatever  happens  to  us  two,  you 
will  never  forget  that  I  loved  you." 

"  I  think  I  may  be  sure  of  that,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

They  rang  a  bell  outside. 

"  Good-bye,  then." 

lie  tightly  grasped  the  hand  he  held ;  once  more  he  gazed 
into  those  clear  and  confiding  eyes  —  with  an  almost  piteously 
anxious  look :  then  he  kissed  her,  and  hurried  away.  But  she 
was  bold  enough  to  follow.  Ilcr  eyes  were  moist.  Her  lieart 
was  beating  fast.  If  Glenogie  had  there  and  then  challeno'cd 
her,  and  said,  "Come,  then,  sweetheart ;  will  you  fiy  with  me? 
And  the  2)roud  mother  tvill  meet  you.  And  the  gentle  cousin  will 
attend  on  you.  And  Castle  Dare  will  welcome  the  young  bride  P'' 
— what  would  she  have  said  ?  The  moment  was  over.  She  only 
saw  the  train  go  gently  away  from  the  station  ;  and  she  saw  the 
piteous  eyes  fixed  on  hers ;  and  while  he  was  in  sight  she  waved 
her  handkerchief.  When  the  train  had  disappeared  she  turned 
away  with  a  sigh. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  she  was  thinking  to  herself,  "  he  is  very  much 
in  earnest  —  far  more  in  earnest  than  even  poor  Ilowson.  It 
would  break  my  heart  if  I  wore  to  bring  him  any  trouble." 

By  the  time  she  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  platform,  her 
thoughts  had  taken  a  more  cheerful  turn. 

"Dear  me,"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "I  quite  forgot  to  ask 
him  whether  my  Gaelic  was  good  !" 

When  she  had  got  into  the  street  outside,  the  day  Avas  bright- 
ening. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  was  asking  herself,  "  whether  Carry  would 
come  and  look  at  that  exhibition  of  water- colors;  and  what 
would  the  cab  fare  be  ?" 


A    DISCLOSUKE.  231 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  DISCLOSURE. 

And  now  he  was  all  eagerness  to  brave  the  first  dragon  in  his 
way — the  certain  opposition  of  this  prond  old  lady  at  Castle  Dare. 
No  doubt  she  would  stand  ai^hast  at  the  mere  mention  of  such  a 
thing;  perhaps  in  her  sudden  indignation  she  might  utter  sharp 
words  that  would  rankle  afterward  in  the  memory.  In  any  case 
he  knew  the  struggle  would  be  long,  and  bitter,  and  harassing; 
and  he  had  not  the  skill  of  speech  to  persuasively  bend  a  woman's 
will.  There  was  another  way — impossible,  alas  ! — he  had  thought 
of.  If  only  he  could  have  taken  Gertrude  White  by  the  hand — 
if  only  ho  could  have  led  her  up  the  hall,  and  presented  her  to 
his  mother,  and  said,  "Mother,  this  is  your  daughter:  is  she  not 
fit  to  be  the  daughter  of  so  proud  a  mother?" — the  fight  Avould 
have  been  over.  How  could  any  one  withstand  the  appeal  of 
those  fearless  and  tender  clear  eyes  ? 

Impatiently  he  waited  for  the  end  of  dinner  on  the  evening  of 
his  arrival ;  impatiently  he  heard  Donald,  the  piper  lad,  play  the 
brave  Salute — the  wild,  shrill  yell  overcoming  the  low  thunder  of 
the  Atlantic  outside,  and  he  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  old 
and  familiar  Camhadh  na  Cloinne.  Then  Hamish  put  the  whis- 
key and  the  claret  on  the  table,  and  withdrew.  They  were  left 
alone. 

"And  now,  Keith,"  said  his  cousin  Janet,  with  the  wise  gray 
eyes  grown  cheerful  and  kind,  "  you  will  tell  us  about  all  the  peo- 
ple you  saw  in  London ;  and  was  there  much  gayety  going  on  ? 
and  did  you  see  the  Queen  at  all?  and  did  you  give  any  fine 
dinners  ?" 

"How  can  I  answer  you  all  at  once,  Janet?"  said  he,  laughing 
in  a  somewhat  nervous  way.  "  I  did  not  see  the  Queen,  for  she 
was  at  Windsor ;  and  I  did  not  give  any  fine  dinners,  for  it  is 
not  the  time  of  year  in  London  to  give  fine  dinners;  and  indeed 
I  spent  enough  money  in  that  way  when  I  was  in  London  before. 
But  I  saw  several  of  the  friends  who  were  very  kind  to  me  when 


232'  MACLEOD    OF    DAKE. 

I  v/as  in  London  in  the  summer.  And  do  you  remember,  Janet, 
my  speaking  to  you  about  the  beautiful  young  lady — the  actress 
— I  met  at  the  house  of  Colonel  Ross  of  Duntorme?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember  very  well." 

"Because,"  said  he — and  his  fingers  were  rather  nervous  as  he 
took  out  a  package  from  his  breast-pocket — "  I  have  got  some 
photographs  of  her  for  the  mother  and  you  to  see.  But  it  is  lit- 
tle of  any  one  that  you  can  understand  from  pliotographs.  You 
would  have  to  hear  her  talk,  and  see  her  manner,  before  you  could 
understand  Avhy  every  one  speaks  so  well  of  her,  and  wljy  slie  is 
a  friend  with  every  one — " 

He  had  handed  the  packet  to  his  mother,  and  the  old  lady  had 
adjusted  her  eye-glasses,  and  was  turning  over  the  various  photo- 
graphs. 

"She  is  very  good-looking,"  said  Lady  Macleod.  "Oh  yes, 
she  is  very  good-looking.     And  that  is  her  sister  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Janet  was  looking  over  them  too, 

"But  where  did  you  get. all  the  photographs  of  her,  Keith?" 
she  said.  "  They  are  from  all  sorts  of  places — Scarborough,  New- 
castle, Brighton — " 

"  I  got  them  from  herself,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  do  you  know  licr  so  well  ?" 

"I  know  her  very  well.  She  was  the  most  intimate  friend  of 
the  people  whose  acquaintance  I  first  made  in  London,"  he  said, 
simply,  and  then  he  turned  to  his  rtiother ;  "  I  wish  photographs 
could  speak,  mother,  for  then  you  might  make  her  acquaintance; 
and  as  she  is  coming  to  the  Iligldands  next  year — " 

"  We  have  no  theatre  in  Mull,  Keith,"  Lady  Macleod  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"  But  by  that  time  she  will  not  be  an  actress  at  all :  did  I 
not  tell  you  that  before?"  he  said,  eagerly.  "Did  I  not  tell  yon 
that  ?  She  is  going  to  leave  the  stage — perhaps  sooner  or  later, 
but  certainly  by  that  time ;  and  Avhcn  she  comes  to  the  High- 
lands next  year  with  her  father,  she  will  be  travelling  just  like  any 
one  else.  And  I  hope,  mother,  you  won't  let  them  think  that  we 
Highlanders  are  less  hospitable  than  the  people  of  London." 

He  made  the  suggestion  in  an  apparently  careless  fashion,  but 
there  was  a  painfully  anxious  look  in  his  eyes.  Janet  noticed 
that. 


A    DISCLOSURE.  LM,> 

*'  It  would  l)c  strancje  if  tlicy  were  to  come  to  so  unfrcquentod 
a  place  as  the  west  of  Mull,"  said  Lady  Macleod,  somewhat  cold- 
]v,  as  she  put  the  photographs  aside. 

"But  I  have  told  them  all  about  the  place,  and  what  they  will 
see,  and  they  are  eagerly  looking  forward  to  it ;  and  you  sure!  y 
would  not  have  them  put  up  at  the  inn  at  Bunessan,  mother?" 

"Really,  Keith,  I  think  you  have  been  imprudent.  It  was  lit- 
tle matter  our  receiving  a  bachelor  friend  like  Norman  Ogilvie, 
but  I  don't  think  we  are  quite  in  a  condition  to  entertain  stnin- 
gers  at  Dare." 

"  No  one  objected  to  me  as  a  stranger  when  I  went  to  Lon- 
don," said  he,  proudly. 

"If  they  are  anywhere  in  the  neighborhood,"  said  Lady  Mac- 
leod, "  I  should  be  pleased  to  show  them  all  the  attention  in  my 
power,  as  you  say  they  were  friendly  v/ith  you  in  London ;  but 
really,  Keith,  I  don't  think  you  can  ask  me  to  invite  two  strangers 
to  Dare—" 

"  Then  it  is  to  the  inn  at  Bunessan  they  must  go  ?"  lie  asked. 

"  Now,  auntie,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  with  her  gentle  voice, 
"  you  are  not  going  to  put  poor  Keith  into  a  fix ;  I  know  you 
won't  do  that.  I  see  the  whole  thing ;  it  is  all  because  Keith 
was  so  thorough  a  Highlander.  They  were  talking  about  Scot- 
land ;  and  no  doubt  he  said  there  was  nothing  in  the  country  to 
be  compared  with  our  islands,  and  caves,  and  cliffs.  And  then 
they  spoke  of  coming,  and  of  course  he  threw  open  the  doors  of 
the  house  to  them.  He  would  not  have  been  a  Highlander  if  he 
liad  done  anything  else,  auntie;  and  I  know  you  won't  be  the 
one  to  make  him  break  off  an  invitation.  And  if  we  cannot  givj 
them  grand  entertainments  at  Dare,  we  can  give  them  a  High- 
land welcome,  any  wnv." 

This  appeal  to  the  iiigliland  pride  of  the  mother  was  not  to 
be  withstood. 

"  Very  well,  Keith,"  said  slic.  "  We  shall  do  what  we  can  for 
your  friends,  though  it  isn't  much  in  this  old  place." 

"  She  will  not  look  at  it  that  way,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  I  know 
that.  She  v/ill  be  proud  to  meet  you,  mother,  and  to  shake  hancjs 
with  you,  and  to  go  about  with  you,  and  do  just  whatever  you  are 
doincr — " 

Lady  Macleod  started. 

"How  long  do  you  propose  this  visit  should  last?"  she  said. 


234  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  Ob,  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  hastily.  "  But  you  know,  motli« 
er,  you  would  not  hurry  your  guests ;  for  I  am  sure  you  would 
be  as  proud  as  any  one  to  show  them  that  we  have  things  worth 
seeing.  We  should  take  her  to  the  cathedral  at  loua  on  some 
moonlight  night;  and  then  some  day  we  could  go  out  to  the 
Dubh  Artach  light-house — and  you  know  liow  the  men  are  de- 
lighted to  see  a  new  face — " 

"  You  would  never  think  of  that,  Keith,"  his  cousin  said.  "  Do 
you  think  a  London  young  lady  would  have  the  courage  to  be 
swung  on  to  the  rocks  and  to  climb  up  all  those  steps  outside?" 

"  She  has  the  coura2:e  for  that  or  for  anvthinij,"  said  he. 
"  And,  then,  you  know,  she  would  be  greatly  interested  in^J.ho 
clouds  of  puffins  and  the  skarts  behind  StaSa,  and  we  would 
take  her  to  the  great  caves  in  the  cliffs  at  Gribun ;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  she  would  like  to  go  out  to  one  of  the  uninhabited  islands." 

Lady  Maclcod  had  preserved  a  stern  silence.  AVhen  she  had 
so  far  yielded  as  to  promise  to  ask  those  two  strangers  to  come 
to  Castle  Dare  on  their  round  of  the  Western  Islands,  she  bad 
taken  it  for  granted  that  their  visit  would  necessarily  be  of  the 
briefest ;  but  the  projects  of  which  Keith  Macleod  now  spoke 
seemed  to  suggest  something  like  a  summer  passed  at  Dare. 
And  he  went  on  talking  in  this  strain,  nervously  deliorhted  with 
the  pictures  that  each  promised  excursion  called  up.  Miss  White 
would  be  charmed  with  this,  and  delighted  with  that.  Janet 
would  find  her  so  pleasant  a  companion  ;  the  mother  would  be 
inclined  to  pet  her  at  first  sight. 

"She  is  already  anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance,  mother," 
said  he  to  the  proud  old  dame  Avho  sat  there  ominously  silent. 
"  And  she  could  think  of  no  other  message  to  send  you  than  this 
— it  belonged  to  her  mother." 

He  opened  the  little  package  —  of  old  lace,  or  something  of 
that  kind — and  handed  it  to  his  mother;  and  at  the  same  time, 
his  impetuosity  carrying  him  on,  he  said  that  perhaps  the  mother 
would  write  now  and  propose  the  visit  in  the  summer. 

At  this  Lady  Macleod's  surprise  overcame  her  reserve. 
^"  You  must  be  mad,  Keith  !  To  write  in  the  middle  of  winter 
and  send  an  invitation  for  the  summer !  And  really  the  whole 
thing  is  so  extraordinary — a  present  coming  to  me  from  an  ab- 
solute stranger — and  that  stranger  an  actress  who  is  quite  un- 
known to  anv  one  I  know — " 


A    DISCLOSURE.  235 

"  Mother,  mother,"  he  cried,  "  don't  say  any  more.  She  has 
promised  to  be  my  wife." 

Lady  Maclcod  stared  at  him  as  if  to  see  whether  he  had  really 
gone  mad,  and  rose  and  pushed  back  her  chair. 

"Keith,"  she  said,  slowly,  and  with  a  cold  dignity,  "  when  yon 
choose  a  wife,  I  hope  I  will  be  the  first  to  welcome  her,  and  I 
shall  be  proud  to  see  you  with  a  wife  worthy  of  the  name  that 
you  bear;  but  in  the  mean  time  I  do  not  think  that  such  a  sub- 
ject should  be  made  the  occasion  of  a  foolish  jest," 

And  with  that  she  left  the  apartment,  and  Keith  Macleod  turn- 
ed in  a  bewildered  sort  of  fashion  to  his  cousin.  Janet  Macleod 
had  risen  too :  she  was  resfardinii'  him  with  anxious  and  troubled 
and  tender  eyes. 

"Janet,"  said  he,  "  it  is  no  jest  at  all !" 

"  I  know  that,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  and  her  face  was  some- 
what pale.  "  I  have  known  that.  I  knew  it  before  you  went 
away  to  England  this  last  time." 

And  suddenly  she  went  over  to  him  and  bravely  held  out  her 
hand ;  and  there  were  quick  tears  in  the  beautiful  gray  eyes. 

"Keith,"  said  slic,  "there  is  no  one  will  be  more  proud  to  see 
you  happy  than  I ;  and  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you  now,  if  you 
will  let  me,  for  I  see  your  whole  heart  is  set  on  it;  and  how  can 
I  doubt  that  you  have  chosen  a  good  wife  ?" 

"Oh,  Janet,  if  you  could  only  see  her  and  know  her !" 

She  turned  aside  for  a  moment — only  for  a  moment.  When 
he  next  saw  her  face  she  was  quite  gay. 

"  You  must  know,  Keith,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  shining  through 
the  tears  of  the  friendly  eyes,  "  that  women-folk  arc  very  jealous ; 
and  all  of  a  sudden  you  come  to  auntie  and  me,  and  tell  us  that 
a  stranger  has  taken  away  your  heart  from  us  and  from  Dare; 
and  you  must  expect  us  to  be  angry  and  resentful  just  a  little  bit 
at  first." 

"  I  never  could  expect  that  from  you,  Janet,"  said  he.  "  I 
knew  that  was  always  impossible  from  you." 

"As  for  auntie,  then,"  she  said,  warmly,  "  is  it  not  natural  that 
she  should  be  surprised  and  perhaps  offended — " 

"But  she  savs  sh(?does  not  believe  it — that  I  am  making  a 
joke  of  it — " 

"  That  is  only  her  way  of  protesting,  you  know,"  said  the  wise 
cousin.     "And  you  must  expect  her  to  be  angry  and  obdurate. 


230  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

because  women  have  tlicir  prejudices,  you  know,  Keith  ;  and  tliis 
younji;  lady  —  well,  it  is  a  pity  she  is  not  known  to  some  one 
auntie  knows." 

"She  is  known  to  Norman  Ogilvic,  and  to  dozens  of  Norman 
Ogilvie's  friends,  and  Major  Stuart  has  seen  her,"  said  he,  quick- 
ly; and  then  he  drew  back.  "But  that  is  nothing.  I  do  not 
choose  to  have  any  one  to  vouch  for  her." 

"  I  know  that ;  I  understand  that,  Keith,"  Janet  Macleod  said, 
gently.  "  It  is  enough  for  me  that  you  have  chosen  her  to  be 
your  wife ;  I  know  you  would  choose  a  good  woman  to  be  your 
wife;  and  it  will  be  enough  for  your  mother  when  she  comes  to 
reflect.     But  you  must  be  patient." 

"Patient  I  would  be,  if  it  concerned  myself  alone,"  said  lie; 
"  but  the  reflection — the  insult  of  the  doubt — " 

"  Now-,  now,  Keith,"  said  she,  "  don't  let  the  hot  blood  of  the 
Macleods  get  the  better  of  you.  You  must  be  patient,  and  con- 
siderate. If  you  will  sit  down  now  quietly,  and  tell  me  all  about 
the  young  lady,  I  will  be  your  ambassador,  if  you  like ;  and  I 
think  I  will  be  able  to  persuade  auntie." 

"I  wonder  if  there  ever  was  anv  woman  as  kind  as  vou  are, 
Janet  ?"  said  he,  looking  at  her  with  a  sort  of  wondering  admi- 
ration. 

"You  must  not  say*  that  any  more  now,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
"You  must  consider  the  young  lady  you  have  chosen  as  perfec- 
tion in  all  things.  And  this  is  a  small  matter.  If  auntie  is  dif- 
ficult to  persuade,  and  should  protest,  and  so  forth,  what  she  says 
v.ill  not  hurt  me,  whereas  it  might  hurt  you  very  sorely.  And 
now  you  will  tell  me  all  about  the  young  lady,  for  I  must  have 
my  hands  full  of  arguments  when  I  go  to  your  mother." 

And  so  this  Court  of  Inquiry  was  formed,  with  one  witness 
not  altogether  unprejudiced  in  giving  his  evidence,  and  with  a 
judge  ready  to  become  the  accomplice  of  the  witness  at  any 
point.  Somehow  Macleod  avoided  speaking  of  Gertrude  White's 
appearance.  Janet  was  rather  a  plain  woman,  despite  those  ten- 
der Celtic  eyes.  lie  spoke  rather  of  her  filial  duty  and  lier  sis- 
terly affection  ;  he  minutely  described  her  qualities  as  a  house-mis- 
tress ;  and  he  was  enthusiastic  about  the  heroism  she  had  shown 
in  determining  to  throw  aside  the  glittering  triumphs  of  her  call- 
ing to  live  a  simpler  and  wholesomer  life.  That  passage  in  the 
career  of  Miss  Gertrude  White  somewhat  puzzled  Janet  Macleod. 


.    .A    DISCLOSURE.  237 

If  it  were  the  case  that  the  anihitioiis  aiul  jealousies  and  simu- 
lated ouotions  of  a  life  devoted  to  tirt  had  a  deinoralizing  and 
degrading  effect  on  the  character,  why  had  not  the  young  lady 
made  the  discovery  a  little  earlier?  What  was  the  reason  of  her 
very  sudden  conversion  ?  It  w\*is  no  doubt  very  noWc  on  her 
part,  if  she  really  were  convinced  that  this  continual  stirring  up 
of  sentiment  without  leading  to  practical  issues  had  an  unwhole- 
some influence  on  her  woman's  nature,  to  voluntarily  surrender 
all  the  intoxication  of  success,  with  its  praises  and  flatteries.  But 
why  was  the  change  in  her  opinions  so  sudden  ?  According  to 
Macleod's  ov/n  account,  Miss  Gertrude  White,  when  he  first  Avent 
np  to  London,  was  wholly  given  over  to  the  ambition  of  succeed- 
ing in  her  profession.  She  was  then  the  "  white  slave."  She 
made  no  protest  against  the  repeatedly  announced  theories  of  her 
father  to  the  effect  that  an  artist  ceased  to  live  for  liimsclf  or 
herself,  and  became  merely  a  medium  for  the  expression  of  the 
emotions  of  others.  Perhaps  the  gentle  cousin  Janet  would  have 
liad  a  clearer  view  of  the  whole  case  if  she  had  known  that  Miss 
Gertrude  White's  awakening  doubts  as  to  the  wholesomeness  of 
simulated  emotions  on  the  human  soul  were  strictly  coincident  in 
j)oint  of  time  with  her  conviction  that  at  any  moment  she  pleased 
she  miglit  call  herself  Lady  Macleod, 

With  all  the  art  he  knew  he  described  tlie  beautiful  small  cour- 
tesies and  tender  ways  of  the  little  houseliold  at  Rose  Bank ;  and 
he  made  it  appear  that  tliis  young  lady,  brought  up  amidst  the 
sweet  observances  of  the  South,  was  making  an  enormous  sacri- 
fice in  offering  to  brave,  for  his  sake,  the  transference  to  the 
harder  and  harsher  ways  of  the  North. 

"And,  you  know,  Keith,  she  speaks  a  good  deal  for  herself," 
Janet  Macleod  said,  turning  over  the  photographs  a::d  looking  at 
them  perhaps  a  little  wistfully.  "  It  is  a  pretty  face.  It  must 
make  many  friends  foi  her.  If  she  were  here  herself  now,  I  don't 
think  auntie  would  hold  out  for  a  moment." 

"  That  is  what  I  know,"  said  he,  eagerly.  "  That  is  wliy  I  am 
anxious  she  should  come  here.  And  if  it  were  only  possible  to 
bring  her  now,  there  would  be  no  more  trouble ;  and  I  think  we 
could  get  her  to  leave  the  stage — at  least  I  would  try.  But  how 
could  wc  ask  her  to  Dare  in  the  winter-time  ?  The  sea  and  the 
rain  would  frighten  her,  and  she  would  never  consent  to  live  here. 
And  perhaps  she  needs  time  to  quite  make  up  her  mind.     She 


238  MACLEOD    OF    DAHE. 

said  she  would  educate  herself  all  the  winter  throuirh,  and  that, 
when  I  saw  her  ai^ain,  she  wt)uld  be  a  thorouo;h  Hiuhland-wuuian. 
That  shows  you  how  willing  she  is  to  make  any  sacrifice  if  she 
thinks  it  right." 

"But  if  she  is  so  convinced,"  said  Janet,  doubtfully,  "that  she 
ouijht  to  leave  the  sta2;o,  whv  does  she  not  do  so  at  once  ?  You 
say  her  father  has  enough  money  to  support  the  family  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  he  has,"  said  Maclcod  ;  and  then  he  added,  with  some 
hesitation,  "  well,  Janet,  I  did  not  like  to  press  that.  She  has 
already  granted  so  much.     But  I  might  ask  her." 

At  this  moment  Lady  Macleod's  maid  came  into  the  hall  and 
said  that  her  mistress  wished  to  see  Miss  Macleod. 

"Perhaps  auntie  thinks  I  am  conspiring  with  you,  Keith,"  she 
said,  laughing,  when  the  girl  had  gone.  "  Well,  you  will  leave 
the  whole  thing  in  my  hands,  and  I  will  do  what  I  can.  And  be 
patient  and  reasonable,  Keith,  even  if  your  mother  won't  hear  of 
it  for  a  day  or  two.  We  women  are  very  prejudiced  against  each 
other,  you  know ;  and  we  have  quick  tempers,  and  we  want  a  lit- 
tle coaxing  and  persuasion — that  is  all." 

"  You  have  always  been  a  good  friend  to  me,  Janet,"  he  said. 

"  And  I  hope  it  will  all  turn  out  for  your  happiness,  Keith," 
she  said,  gently,  as  she  left. 

But  as  for  Lady  Macleod,  "when  Janet  reached  lier  room,  the 
haughty  old  dame  was  "  neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind."  There 
was  nothino-  she  would  not  have  done  for  this  favorite  son  of  hers 
but  this  one  thinij.  Give  her  consent  to  such  a  marriafje?  The 
ghosts  of  all  the  Maclcods  of  Dare  would  call  shame  on  her! 

"  Oh,  auntie,"  said  the  patient  Janet,  "  he  has  been  a  good  son 
to  you ;  and  you  must  have  known  he  would  marry  some  day." 

"Marry?"  said  the  old  lady,  and  she  turned  a  quick  eye  on 
Janet  herself.  "  I  was  anxious  to  see  him  married;  and  when  he 
was  choosino;  a  wife  I  think  he  mis^ht  have  looked  nearer  home, 
Janet." 

"What  a  wild  night  it  is!"  said  Janet  Macleod  quickh%  and 
she  went  for  a  moment  to  the  Avindow.  "  The  Dunara  will  be 
coming  round  the  Mull  of  Cantire  just  about  now.  And  where 
is  the  present,  auntie,  that  the  young  lady  sent  you  ?  You  must 
write  and  thank  her  for  that,  at  all  events ;  and  shall  T  write  the 
letter  for  you  in  the  morning?" 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.  239 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FIRST     IMPRESSIONS. 

Lady  Macleod  remained  obdurate ;  Janet  went  about  the 
house  with  a  sad  look  on  her  face ;  and  Macleod,  tired  of  the 
formal  courtesy  that  governed  the  relations  between  his  mother 
and  himself,  spent  most  of  his  time  in  snipe  and  duck  shooting 
about  the  islands — braving  the  wild  winds  and  wilder  seas  in  a 
great  open,  lug-sailed  boat,  the  Umpire  having  long  ago  been  sent 
to  her  winter- quarters.  But  the  harsh,  rough  life  had  its  com- 
pensations. Letters  came  from  the  South — treasures  to  be  pored 
over  night  after  night  with  an  increasing  wonder  and  admiration. 
Miss  Gertrude  AVhitc  was  a  charming  letter -writer;  and  now 
there  was  no  restraint  at  all  over  her  frank  confessions  and  play- 
ful humors.  Her  letters  Avere  a  prolonged  chat  —  bright,  ram- 
bling, merry,  thoughtful,  just  as  the  mood  occurred.  She  told 
him  of  her  small  adventures  and  the  incidents  of  her  every-day 
life,  so  that  he  could  delight  himself  with  vivid  pictures  of  her- 
self and  her  surroundings.  And  again  and  again  she  hinted  rath- 
er than  said  that  she  was  continually  thinking  of  tlic  Highlands, 
and  of  the  great  change  in  store  for  her. 

"  Yesterday  morning,"  she  wrote,  "  I  was  going  down  the  Edg- 
ware  Road,  and  whom  should  I  see  but  two  small  boys,  dressed 
as  young  Highlanders,  staring  into  the  window  of  a  toy-shop. 
Stalwart  young  fellows  they  were,  with  ruddy  complexions  and 
brown  legs,  and  their  Glengarries  coquettishly  placed  on  the  side 
of  their  head ;  and  I  could  see  at  once  that  their  plain  kilt  was 
no  holiday  dress.  How  could  I  help  speaking  to  them  ?  I 
thought  perhaps  they  had  come  from  Mull.  And  so  I  went  up 
to  them  and  asked  if  they  would  let  me  buy  a  toy  for  each  of 
them.  'We  dot  money,'  says  the  younger,  with  a  bold  stare 
at  my  impertinence.  '  But  yon  can't  refuse  to  accept  a  present 
from  a  lady  f  I  said.  '  Oh  no,  ma'am,'  said  the  elder  boy,  and 
he  politely  raised  his  cap;  and  the  accent  of  his  speech — well,  it 
made  my  heart  juinj).      Jhit  I  uas  very  nearly  disappointed  when 


240  MACLEUD    OF    DAICE. 

I  got  tliem  into  the  sliop  ;  for  I  asked  v.hat  theii'  name  was ;  and 
tlioy  answered,  'Lavender.'  '  Wliy,  surely  that  is  not  a  Ilighhuid 
name,'  I  said.  *  No,  ma'am,'  said  the  elder  lad  ;  '  but  my  mamma 
is  from  the  Highlands,  and  we  are  from  the  Highlands,  and  we 
are  going  back  to  spend  the  New-year  at  home.'  'And  where  is 
your  home  ?'  I  asked ;  but  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the 
place ;  I  understood  it  was  somewhere  away  in  the  North.  And 
then  I  asked  them  if  they  liad  ever  been  to  Mull.  '  We  have 
passed  it  in  the  Clansman,''  said  the  elder  boy.  'And  do  you 
know  one  Sir  Keith  Macleod  there?'  I  asked.  'Oh  no,  ma'am,' 
said  he,  staring  at  mc  with  his  clear  blue  eyes  as  if  I  was  a  very 
stupid  person,  'the  Macleods  are  from  Skye.'  'But  surely  one 
of  them  may  live  in  Mull,'  I  suggested.  'The  Macleods  arc 
from  Skye,'  lie  maintained,  'and  my  papa  was  at  Dunvegan  last 
year.'  Then  came  the  business  of  choosing  the  toys;  and  the 
smaller  child  would  have  a  boat,  though  his  elder  brother  laughed 
at  him,  and  said  something  about  a  former  boat  of  his  having 
been  blown  out  into  Loch  Rogue — which  seemed  to  me  a  strange 
name  for  even  a  Iligliland  loch.  But  the  elder  lad,  he  must 
needs  have  a  sword ;  and  when  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted  that 
for,  he  said,  quite  proudly, '  To  kill  the  Frenchmen  with.'  '  To 
kill  Frenchmen  with?'  I  said;  for  this  young  fire-eater  seemed  to 
mean  what  he  said.  '  Yes,  ma'am,'  said  he,  '  for  they  shoot  the 
sheep  out  on  the  Flannan  Islands  when  no  one  sees  them ;  but 
w'e  will  catch  them  some  day.'  I  was  afraid  to  ask  him  where 
the  Flannan  Islands  were,  for  I  could  see  he  was  already  regard- 
ing me  as  a  very  ignorant  person ;  so  I  had  tlieir  toys  tied  up  for 
them,  and  packed  them  ofit  home.  'And  when  you  get  home,'  I 
said  to  them, '  you  will  give  my  compliments  to  your  mamma, 
and  say  that  you  got  the  ship  and  the  sword  from  a  lady  who 
has  a  great  liking  for  the  Highland  people.'  'Yes,  ma'am,'  says 
he,  touching  his  cap  again  with  a  proud  politeness ;  and  then 
they  went  their  ways,  and  I  saw  them  no  more." 

Then  the  Christmas  -  time  came,  with  all  its  mystery,  and 
friendly  observances,  and  associations  ;  and  she  described  to  him 
how  Carry  and  she  were  engaged  in  decorating  certain  schools  in 
which  they  were  interested,  and  how  a  young  curate  had  paid  lier 
a  great  deal  of  attention,  until  some  one  went  and  told  him,  as  a 
cruel  joke,  that  Miss  White  was  a  celebrated  dancer  at  a  music- 
hall. 


.lUST    IMPKESSIONS.  241 

Tlicn,  on  Cliristmas  morning,  behold,  tlie  very  first  snow  of  the 
year!  She  got  up  early  ;  she  ■went  out  alone  ;  the  holiday  world 
of  London  was  not  yet  awake. 

"  I  never  in  my  life  saw  anything  more  beautiful,"  she  wrote 
to  him,  "  than  Regent's  Park  this  morning,  in  a  pale  fog,  with 
just  a  sprinkling  of  snow  on  the  green  of  the  grass,  and  one  great 
yellow  mansion  shining  through  the  mist — the  sunlight  on  it — 
like  some  magnificent  distant  palace.  And  I  said  to  myself,  if  I 
were  a  poet  or  a  painter  I  would  take  the  common  things,  and 
show  people  the  wonder  and  the  beauty  of  them  ;  for  I  believe 
the  sense  of  wonder  is  a  sort  of  light  that  shines  in  the  soul  of 
the  artist;  and  the  least  bit  of  the  'denying  spirit' — the  utter- 
ance of  the  word  connu — snuffs  it  out  at  once.  But  then,  dear 
Keith,  I  caught  myself  asking  what  I  had  to  do  with  all  these 
dreams,  and  these  theories  that  papa  would  like  to  have  talked 
about.  What  had  I  to  do  with  art  ?  And  then  I  grew  miserable. 
Perhaps  the  loneliness  of  the  park,  with  only  those  robust,  hurry- 
ing strangers  crossing,  blowing  their  fingers,  and  pulling  their 
cravats  closer,  had  affected  me ;  or  perhaps  it  was  that  I  suddenly 
found  how  helpless  I  am  by  myself.  I  want  a  sustaining  hand, 
Keith;  and  that  is  now  far  away  from  me.  I  can  do  anything 
with  myself  of  set  purpose,  but  it  doesn't  last.  Tf  you  remind 
me  that  one  ought  generously  to  overlook  the  faults  of  others,  I 
generously  overlook  the  faults  of  others — for  five  minutes.  If 
you  remind  me  that  to  harbor  jealousy  and  envy  is  mean  and 
contemptible,  I  make  an  effort,  and  throw  out  all  jealous  and  en- 
vious thoughts — for  five  minutes.  And  so  you  see  I  got  discon- 
tented with  myself ;  and  I  hated  two  men  who  were  calling  loud 
jokes  at  each  other  as  they  parted  different  ways ;  and  I  marched 
home  through  the  fog,  feeling  rather  inclined  to  quarrel  with 
somebody.  By-the-way,  did  you  ever  notice  that  you  often  can 
detect  the  relationship  between  people  by  their  similar  mode  of 
walking,  and  that  more  easily  than  by  any  likeness  of  face  ?  As 
I  strolled  home,  I  could  tell  which  of  the  couples  of  men  walking 
before  me  were  brothers  by  the  similar  bending  of  the  knee  and 
the  similar  gait,  even  when  their  features  were  quite  unlike. 
There  was  one  man  whose  fashion  of  walking  was  really  very 
droll;  his  right  knee  gave  a  sort  of  preliminary  shake  as  if  it 
was  uncertain  which  way  the  foot  Avanted  to  go.  For  the  life  of 
me  I  could  not  help  imitating  him;  and  then  I  Avondered  what 

11 


-IJ  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Ijis  face  would  be  like  if  lie  were  suddeuly  to  turn  round  and 
catch  me." 

That  still  dream  of  Resrcnt's  Park  in  sunliii'Iit  and  snow  Le  car- 
ried  about  ■with  him  as  a  vision — a  picture — even  amidst  these 
blustering  westerly  Avinds,  and  the  riven  seas  that  sprung  over  the 
rocks  and  swelled  and  roared  away  into  the  caves  of  Gribun  and 
Bourg.  There  was  no  snow  as  yet  up  here  at  Dare,  but  wild 
tempests  shaking  the  house  to  its  foundations,  and  brief  gleams 
of  stormy  sunlight  lighting  up  the  gray  spindrift  as  it  was  whirl- 
ed shoreward  from  the  breaking  seas ;  and  then  days  of  slow  and 
mournful  rain,  with  Staiia,  and  Lunga,  and  the  Dutchman  become 
mere  dull  patches  of  blurred  purple — when  they  were  visible  at 
all — on  the  leadcn-hned  and  coldly  rushing  Atlantic. 

"  I  have  passed  through  the  gates  of  the  I'alace  of  Art,"  she 
wrote,  two  days  later,  from  the  calmer  and  sunnier  South ;  "  and 
I  have  entered  its  mysterious  halls,  and  I  have  breathed  for  a 
time  the  hushed  atmosphere  of  wonderland.  Do  you  remember 
meeting  a  Mr.  Lemuel  at  any  time  at  Mrs.  Ross's — a  man  with  a 
strange,  gray,  tired  face,  and  large,  wan,  blue  eyes,  and  an  air  as 
if  he  were  walking  in  a  dream  ?  Perhaps  not ;  but,  at  ail  events, 
he  is  a  great  painter,  who  never  exhibits  to  the  vulgar  crowd,  but 
who  is  worshipped  by  a  select  circle  of  devotees ;  and  bis  house 
is  a  temple  dedicated  to  high  art,  and  only  profound  believers 
are  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold.  Oh  dear  me  !  I  am  not  a  be- 
liever; but  how  can  I  help  that?  Mr,  Lemuel  is  a  friend  of 
papa's,  however ;  they  have  mysterious  talks  over  milk-jugs  of 
colored  stone,  and  small  pictures  with  gilt  skies,  and  angels  in 
red  and  blue.  Well,  yesterday  he  called  on  papa,  and  requested 
Lis  permission  to  ask  me  to  sit — or,  rather,  stand — for  the  her- 
oine of  his  next  great  work,  which  is  to  be  an  allegorical  one, 
taken  from  the  'Faery  Queen'  or  the  '  Morte  d'Arthur,'or  some 
sncli  book.  I  protested  ;  it  was  no  use.  '  Good  gracious,  papa,' 
I  said, '  do  you  know  what  he  will  make  of  me?  He  will  give 
me  a  dirty  brown  face,  and  I  shall  v,car  a  dirty  green  dress ;  and 
no  doubt  I  shall  be  standing  beside  a  pool  of  dirty  blue  water, 
with  a  purple  sky  overhead,  and  a  white  moon  in  it.  The  chances 
are  he  will  dislocate  my  neck,  and  give  me  gaunt  cheeks  like  a 
corpse,  ■with  a  serpent  under  my  foot,  or  a  flaming  dragon 
stretcliing  liis  jaws  bcliind  my  back.'  Papa  was  deeply  shocked 
at  my  levity.      Was  it  for  me,  an  artist  (bless  the  mark !),  to  balk 


FIRST    IMPUESSIONS.  243 

the  Ligli  alms  of  art?  Besides,  it  was  vaguely  liintcd  that,  to  re- 
ward ine,  certain  afternoon-parties  were  to  be  got  up  ;  and  then, 
Avhen  I  had  got  out  of  Merlin-land,  and  assured  myself  I  was 
human  by  eating  lunch,  1  was  to  meet  a  goodly  company  of  dis- 
tinguished folk — groat  poets,  and  one  or  two  more  mystic  paint- 
ers, a  dilettante  duke,  and  the  nameless  crowd  of  worshippers 
who  would  come  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  all  these,  and  sigh  adoring- 
ly, and  shake  their  heads  over  the  Philistinism  of  English  society. 
I  don't  care  for  udv  mediaeval  maidens  mvself,  nor  for  allegori- 
cal  serpents,  nor  for  bloodless  men  with  hollow  cheeks,  supposed 
to  represent  soldierly  valor ;  if  I  were  an  artist,  I  would  rather 
show  people  the  beauty  of  a  common  brick  wall  when  the  red 
winter  sunset  shines  along  it.  But  perhaps  that  is  only  my  ig- 
norance, and  I  may  learn  better  before  Mr.  Lemuel  has  done 
with  me." 

When  Macleod  first  read  this  passage,  a  dark  expression  canic 
over  his  face.     He  did  not  like  this  new  project. 

"And  so,  yesterday  afternoon,"  the  letter  continued,  "papa  and 
I  went  to  Mr.  Lemuel's  house,  which  is  only  a  short  way  from 
here;  and  we  entered,  and  found  ourselves  in  a  large  circular 
and  domed  hall,  pretty  nearly  dark,  and  with  a  number  of  closed 
doors.  It  was  all  hushed,  and  mysterious,  and  dim ;  but  there 
was  a  little  more  light  when  the  man  opened  one  of  these  doors 
and  showed  us  into  a  chamber — or,  rather,  one  of  a  series  of 
chambers — that  seemed  to  me  at  first  like  a  big  child's  toy-house, 
all  painted  and  gilded  with  red  and  gold.  It  was  bewilderingly 
full  of  objects  that  had  no  ostensible  purpose.  You  could  not 
tell  Avhether  any  one  of  these  rooms  was  dining-room,  or  draw- 
ing-room, or  anything  else ;  it  was  all  a  museum  of  wonderful 
cabinets  filled  with  different  sorts  of  ware,  and  trays  of  uncut 
precious  stones,  and  Eastern  jewellery,  and  what  not ;  and  then 
you  discovered  that  in  the  panels  of  the  cabinets  were  painted 
series  of  allegorical  heads  on  a  gold  background;  and  then  per- 
haps you  stumbled  on  a  painted  glass  window  wh.ere  no  window 
should  be.  It  was  a  splendid  blaze  of  color,  no  doubt.  One  be- 
gan to  dream  of  Byzantine  emperors,  and  Moorish  conquerors, 
and  Constantinople  gilt  domes.  But  then — mark  the  dramatic 
effect! — away  in  the  blaze  of  the  farther  chamber  appears  a  sol- 
emn, slim,  bowed  figure,  dressed  all  in  black  —  the  black  velvet 
coat  seemed  even  blacker  than  bluf^k— and  the  mournful-cved 


244  MACLEOD    OF    DAEE. 

mail  approached,  and  be  gazed  upon  us  a  grave  welcome  from 
the  pleading,  affected,  tired  eyes.  He  had  a  slight  cough,  too, 
which  I  rather  fancied  was  assumed  for  the  occasion.  Then  wc 
all  sat  down,  and  he  talked  to  us  in  a  low,  sad,  monotonous  voice  ; 
and  there  was  a  smell  of  frankincense  about — no  doubt  a  band 
of  worshippers  had  lately  been  visiting  at  the  shrine ;  and,  at 
papa's  request,  he  showed  me  some  of  his  trays  of  jewels  with  a 
wearied  air.  And  some  drawings  of  Botticelli  that  papa  had 
been  speaking  about ;  would  he  look  at  them  now  ?  Oh,  dear 
Keith,  the  wickedness  of  the  human  imagination !  As  he  w^ent 
about  in  this  limp  and  languid  fashion,  in  the  hushed  room,  with 
the  old-fashioned  scent  in  the  air,  I  wished  I  was  a  street-boy. 
I  wished  I  could  get  close  behind  him,  and  give  a  sudden  yell ! 
Would  he  fly  into  bits?  AVould  he  be  so  startled  into  natural- 
ness as  to  swear  ?  And  all  the  time  that  papa  and  lie  talked,  I 
dared  scarcely  lift  my  eyes ;  for  I  could  not  but  think  of  the  ef- 
fect of  that  wild  '  Hi !'  And  what  if  I  had  burst  into  a  fit  of 
laughter  without  any  apparent  cause?" 

Apparently  Miss  White  had  not  been  much  impressed  by  her 
visit  to  Mr.  Lemuel's  palace  of  art,  and  she  made  thereafter  but 
slight  mention  of  it,  though  she  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  let 
the  artist  borrow  the  expression  of  her  face  for  his  forth-coming 
picture.  She  had  other  things  to  think  about  now,  when  she 
wrote  to  Castle  Dare. 

For  one  day  Lady  Macleod  went  into  her  son's  room  and  said 
to  him,  "  Here  is  a  letter,  Keith,  which  I  have  written  to  Miss 
White.     I  wish  you  to  read  it." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  hastily  ran  his  eye  over  the  letter. 
It  was  a  trifle  formal,  it  is  true ;  but  it  was  kind,  and  it  expressed 
the  hope  that  Miss  Wliite  and  her  father  would  next  summer 
visit  Castle  Dare.  The  young  man  threw  his  arms  round, liis 
mother's  neck  and  kissed  her.  "  That  is  like  a  good  mother," 
said  he.  "Do  you  know  how  happy  she  will  be  when  she  re- 
ceives this  message  from  you?" 

Lady  Macleod  left  him  the  letter  to  address.  He  read  it  over 
carefully ;  and  though  he  saw  that  the  handwriting  was  the  hand- 
writing of  his  mother,  he  knew  that  the  spirit  that  had  prompted 
these  words  was  that  of  the  gentle  cousin  Janet. 

This  concession  had  almost  been  forced  from  the  old  lady  by 
the  patience  and  mild  persistence  of  Janet  Macleod;  but  if  any- 


FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.  245 

thing  could  liave  assured  her  that  she  had  acted  properly  in  yield- 
in;?;,  it  was  the  answer  which  Miss  Gertrude  White  sent  in  return. 
Miss  White  wrote  that  letter  several  times  over  before  sending  it 
off,  and  it  was  a  clever  piece  of  composition.  The  timid  expres- 
sions of  gratitude;  the  hints  of  the  writer's  sympathy  with  the 
romance  of  the  Highlands  and  the  Highland  character;  the  def- 
erence shown  by  youth  to  age ;  and  here  and  there  just  the  small- 
est glimpse  of  humor,  to  show  that  Miss  White,  though  very  hum- 
ble and  respectful  and  all  that,  was  not  a  mere  fool.  Lady  Mac- 
Icod  was  pleased  by  this  letter.  She  showed  it  to  her  son  one 
night  at  dinner.     "  It  is  a  pretty  hand,"  she  remarked,  critically. 

Keith  Macleod  read  it  with  a  proud  heart.  "  Can  you  not 
gather  what  kind  of  woman  she  is  from  that  letter  alone?"  he 
said,  eagerly.  "  I  can  almost  hear  her  talk  in  it.  Janet,  will  you 
read  it  too  ?" 

Janet  Macleod  took  the  small  sheet  of  perfumed  paper  and  read 
it  calmly,  and  handed  it  back  to  her  aunt.  "  It  is  a  nice  letter," 
said  she.  "  We  must  try  to  make  Dare  as  bright  as  may  be  when 
she  comes  to  see  us,  that  she  will  not  go  back  to  England  with  a 
bad  account  of  the  Highland  people." 

That  was  all  that  was  said  at  the  time  about  the  promised  visit 
of  Miss  Gertrude  White  to  Castle  Dare.  It  was  only  as  a  visitor 
that  Lady  Macleod  had  consented  to  receive  her.  There  was  no 
word  mentioned  on  either  side  of  anything  further  than  that. 
Mr.  White  and  his  dauo-hter  were  to  be  in  the  Iliojhlands  next 
summer;  they  would  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  Castle  Dare; 
Lady  Macleod  would  be  glad  to  entertain  them  for  a  time,  and 
make  the  acquaintance  of  two  of  her  son's  friends.  At  all  events, 
the  proud  old  lady  would  be  able  to  see  what  sort  of  woman  this 
was  whom  Keith  Macleod  had  chosen  to  be  his  wife. 

And  so  the  winter  days  and  nights  and  weeks  dragged  slowly 
by;  but  always,  from  time  to  time,  came  those  merry  and  tender 
and  playful  letters  from  the  South,  which  he  listened  to  rather 
than  read.  It  was  her  very  voice  that  was  speaking  to  him,  and 
in  imagination  he  went  about  with  her.  He  strolled  with  her 
over  the  crisp  grass,  whitened  with  hoar-frost,  of  the  Regent's 
Park;  he  hurried  home  with  her  in  the  chill  gray  afternoons — 
the  yellow  gas-lamps  being  lit — to  the  little  tea-table.  When  she 
visited  a  picture-gallery,  she  sent  him  a  full  report  of  that,  even. 

"  Why  is  it,"  she  asked,  "  that  one  is  so  delighted  to  look  a 


240  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

long  distance,  even  wlicu  tlio  view  is  quite  uninteresting?  I  won- 
der if  that  is  why  I  greatly  prefer  landscape  to  figure  subjects. 
The  latter  always  seem  to  me  to  be  painted  from  models  just 
come  from  the  Ilampstead  Road.  There  was  scarcely  a  sea-piece 
in  the  exhibition  that  was  not  spoiled  by  figures,  put  in  for  the 
sake  of  picturesquencss,  I  suppose.  VvHiy,  when  you  are  by  the 
sea  you  want  to  be  alone,  surely !  Ah,  if  I  could  only  have  a 
look  at  those  winter  seas  you  speak  of !" 

He  did  not  echo  that  wish  at  all.  Even  as  be  read  he  could 
hear  the  thunderous  booming  of  the  breakers  into  the  giant  caves. 
Was  it  for  a  pale  rose-leaf  to  brave  that  fell  wind  that  tore  the 
waves  into  spindrift,  and  howled  through  the  lonely  chasms  of 
Ben-an-Sloich  ? 

To  one  of  these  precious  documents,  written  in  the  small,  neat 
hand  on  pink-toned  and  perfumed  paper,  a  postscript  was  added: 
"  If  you  keep  my  letters,"  she  wrote,  and  he  laughed  when  he 
saw  that  if,  "  I  wish  you  would  go  back  to  the  one  in  which  I 
told  you  of  papa  and  me  calling  at  Mr.  Lemuel's  house,  and  I 
wish,  dear  Keith,  you  would  burn  it.  I  am  sure  it  was  very  cruel 
and  unjust.  One  often  makes  the  mistake  of  thinking  people 
affected  when  there  is  no  affectation  of  any  sort  about  them. 
And  if  a  man  has  injured  his  health  and  made  an  invalid  of  him- 
self, through  his  intense  and  constant  devotion  to  his  work,  surely 
that  is  not  anything  to  be  laughed  at?  AVhatevcr  Mr.  Lemuel 
may  be,  he  is,  at  all  events,  desperately  in  earnest.  The  passion 
that  he  has  for  his  art,  and  his  patience  and  concentration  and 
self-sacrifice,  seem  to  me  to  be  nothing  less  than  noble.  And  so, 
dear  Keith,  will  you  please  to  burn  that  impertinent  letter?'' 

Macleod  sought  out  the  letter  and  carefully  read  it  over.  He 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  could  see  no  just  reason  for  com- 
plying with  her  demand.     Frequently  first  impressions  were  best. 


A    GRAVE.  247 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A   GRAVE. 

In  the  by-gone  days,  this  eager,  active,  stout-limbed  young  fel- 
low had  met  the  hardest  winter  witli  a  glad  heart.  He  rejoiced 
in  its  thousand  various  pursuits;  he  set  his  teeth  against  the 
driving  hail ;  he  laughed  at  the  drenching  spray  that  sprung  higli 
over  the  bows  of  his  boat;  and  what  harm  ever  came  to  him  if 
he  took  the  sliort-cut  across  the  upper  reaches  of  Loch  Scridain, 
wadii.g  Avaist-deep  tlirough  a  mile  of  sea-water  on  a  bitter  Janu- 
ary day?  And  where  was  the  loneliness  of  his  life  when  always, 
wherever  he  went  by  sea  or  shore,  he  had  these  old  friends 
around  him — the  red-beaked  sea-pyots  whirring  along  the  rocks; 
and  the  startled  curlews,  whistling  their  warning  note  across  the 
sea;  and  the  shy  duck  swimming  far  out  on  the  smooth  lochs; 
to  say  nothing  of  the  black  game  that  v/ould  scarcely  move  from 
their  perch  on  the  larch-trees  as  he  approached,  and  the  deer  that 
were  more  distinctly  visible  on  the  far  heights  of  Ben-an-Sloich 
when  a  slight  sprinkling  of  snow  had  fallen  ? 

But  now  all  this  was  chanijed.  The  awfulness  of  the  dark 
winter-time  amidst  those  Northern  seas  overshadowed  him.  "  It 
is  like  going  into  a  grave,"  he  had  said  to  her.  And,  with  all  his 
passionate  longing  to  see  her  and  have  speech  of  her  once  more, 
how  could  he  dare  to  ask  her  to  approach  these  dismal  solitudes? 
Sometimes  he  tried  to  picture  her  coming,  and  to  read  in  imagi- 
nation the  look  on  her  face.  See  now ! — how  she  clings  terrified 
to  the  side  of  the  big  open  packet-boat  that  crosses  the  Frith  of 
Lorn,  and  she  dares  not  look  abroad  on  the  howling  waste  of 
"waves.  The  mountains  of  Mull  rise  sad  and  cold  and  distant  be- 
fore her;  there  is  no  bright  glint  of  sunshine  to  herald  her  ap- 
proach. This  small  dog-cart,  now  :  it  is  a  frail  thing  with  which 
to  plunge  into  the  wild  valleys,  for  surely  a  gust  of  wind  might 
whirl  it  into  the  chasm  of  roaring  waters  below.  Glen-More :  who 
that  has  ever  seen  Glen-More  on  a  lowering  January  day  will  ever 
forget  it — its  silence,  its  loneliness,  its  vast  and  lifeless  gloom? 
Her  face  is  pale  nov/ ;  she  sits  speechless  and  awe-stricken ;  for 


2iS  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 

the  iiiountiiin-wa!ls  that  ovcrlianrr  tins  sombre  ravine  seem  ready 
to  fall  on  licr,  and  there  is  an  awful  darkness  spreading  along 
their  summits  under  the  heavy  swathes  of  cloud.  And  then  those 
black  lakes  far  down  in  the  lone  hollows,  more  death-like  and  ter- 
rible than  any  tourist-haunted  Loch  Coruisk :  would  she  not  turn 
to  him  and,  with  trembling  hands,  implore  him  to  take  her  back 
and  away  to  the  more  familiar  and  bearable  South  ?  He  began 
to  see  all  these  things  with  her  eyes.  lie  began  to  fear  the  awful 
things  of  the  winter-time  and  the  seas.  The  glad  heart  had  gone 
out  of  him. 

Even  the  beautiful  aspects  of  the  Highland  winter  liad  some- 
thing about  them — an  isolation,  a  terrible  silence — that  he  grew 
almost  to  dread.  What  was  this  strange  thing,  for  examj)le? 
Early  in  the  niorning  he  looked  from  the  windows  of  his  roou), 
and  he  could  have  imagined  he  was  not  at  Dare  at  all.  All  the 
familiar  objects  of  sea  and  shore  had  disappeared ;  this  was  a 
new  world — a  world  of  fantastic  shapes,  all  moving  and  unknown 
— a  world  of  vague  masses  of  gray,  though  here  and  there  a 
gleam  of  lemon-color  shining  through  the  fog  showed  that  the 
dawn  was  reflected  on  a  glassy  sea.  Then  he  began  to  make  out 
the  things  around  him.  That  great  range  of  purple  mountains 
was  Ulva — Ulva  transfigured  and  become  Alpine!  Then  those 
Avan  gleams  of  yellow  light  on  the  sea? — he  went  to  the  other 
window,  and  behold !  the  heavy  bands  of  cloud  that  lay  across 
the  unseen  peaks  of  Ben-an-Sloich  had  parted,  and  there  was  a 
blaze  of  clear,  metallic,  green  sky ;  and  the  clouds  bordering  on 
that  gleam  of  light  were  touched  with  a  smoky  and  stormy  saf- 
fron-hue that  flashed  and  changed  amidst  the  seething  and  twist- 
ing shapes  of  the  fog  and  the  mist.  lie  turned  to  the  sea  again 
— what  phantom-ship  was  this  that  appeared  in  mid-air,  and  ap- 
parently moving  when  there  was  no  wind  ?  He  heard  the  sound 
of  oars;  the  huge  vessel  turned  out  to  be  only  the  boat  of  the 
Gometra  men  going  out  to  the  lobster-traps.  The  yellow  light 
on  the  glassy  plain  waxes  stronger;  new  objects  appear  through 
the  shifting  fog;  until  at  last  a  sudden  opening  shows  him  a 
wonderful  thing  far  away — apparently  at  the  very  confines  of 
the  world — and  awful  in  its  solitary  splendor.  For  that  is  the 
distant  island  of  Staifa,  and  it  has  caught  the  colors  of  the 
dawn ;  and  amidst  the  cold  grays  of  the  sea  it  shines  a  pale, 
transparent  rose. 


A    GRAVE.  249 

lie  would  like  to  have  sent  her,  if  lie  had  got  any  skill  of  the 
brush,  soino  brief  iiiemoranduin  of  that  beautiful  thing;  but  in- 
deed, and  in  any  case,  that  was  not  the  sort  of  painting  she  seem- 
ed to  care  for  just  then.  Mr.  Lemuel,  and  his  Palace  of  Art,  and 
his  meditieval  saints,  and  what  not,  which  had  all  for  a  time  dis- 
appeared from  Miss  White's  letters,  began  now  to  monopolize  a 
good  deal  of  space  there;  and  there  was  no  longer  any  imperti- 
nent playfulness  in  her  references,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  respect 
and  admiration  that  occasionally  almost  touched  enthusiasm. 
From  hints  more  than  statements  Macleod  gathered  that  Miss 
White  had  been  made  much  of  by  the  people  frequenting  Mr. 
Lemuel's  house.  She  had  there  met  one  or  two  gentlemen  who 
Iiad  written  very  fine  things  about  her  in  the  papers ;  and  certain 
liighly  distinguished  people  had  been  good  enough  to  send  her 
cards  of  invitation  ;  and  she  had  once  or  twice  been  persuaded 
to  read  some  piece  of  dramatic  poetry  at  Mr.  Lemuel's  afternoon- 
parties;  and  she  even  suggested  that  Mr.  Lemuel  had  almost  as 
much  as  said  that  he  would  like  to  paint  her  portrait.  Mr.  Lem- 
uel had  also  ofifered  her,  but  she  had  refused  to  accept,  a  small 
but  marvellous  study  by  Pinturicchio,  which  most  people  consid- 
ered the  gem  of  his  collection. 

Macleod,  reading  and  rereading  these  letters  many  a  time  in 
the  solitudes  of  western  Mull,  came  to  the  opinion  that  there 
must  be  a  good  deal  of  amusement  going  on  in  London.  And 
was  it  not  natural  that  a  young  girl  should  like  to  be  petted,  and 
flattered,  and  made  much  of?  Wliy  should  he  complain  when 
she  wrote  to  say  how  she  enjoyed  this  and  was  charmed  by  that? 
Could  he  ask  her  to  exchange  that  gay  and  pleasant  life  for  this 
hibernation  in  Mull  ?  Sometimes  for  days  together  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Castle  Dare  literally  lived  in  the  clouds.  Dense  bands  of 
white  mist  lay  all  along  the  cliffs;  and  they  lived  in  a  semi-dark- 
ness, with  the  mournful  dripping  of  the  rain  on  the  wet  garden, 
and  the  mournful  wash  of  the  sea  all  around  the  shores.  He 
was  glad,  then,  that  Gertrude  White  was  not  at  Castle  Dare. 

But  sometimes,  when  he  could  not  for1)car  opening  his  heart 
to  her,  and  pressing  her  for  some  more  definite  assurance  as  to 
the  future,  the  ordinary  playful  banter  in  which  she  generally 
evaded  liis  urgency  gave  place  to  a  tone  of  coldness  that  aston- 
ished and  alarmed  him.  Why  should  she  so  cruelly  resent  this 
piteous  longing  of  his?     Was  she  no  longer,  then,  so   anxious 

11^' 


250  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

to  escape  from  tlic  thraldom  that  liad  seemed  so  bateful  to 
her? 

"  Ilamish,"  said  Macleod,  abruptly,  after  readlnL>-  one  of  these 
letters,  "  cuiue,  now,  wo  will  go  and  overhaul  the  Umjjlre,  for  you 
know  she  is  to  he  made  very  smart  this  summer ;  for  we  have 
people  coming  all  the  way  from  London  to  Dare,  and  they  must 
not  think  we  do  not  know  in  Mull  how  to  keep  a  yacht  iu  ship- 
shape." 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  Ilamish  ;  "  and  if  we  do  not  know  that  in  Mull, 
where  will  thev  be  likely  to  know  that?" 

''And  you  will  get  the  cusliions  in  the  saloon  covered  again; 
and  we  will  have  a  new  mirror  for  the  ladies'  cabin,  and  Miss 
Macleod,  if  you  ask  her,  will  put  a  piece  of  lace  round  the  top  of 
that,  to  make  it  look  like  a  lady's  room.  And  then,  you  know, 
Hamish,  you  can  show  the  little  boy  Johnny  Wickes  how  to  pol- 
ish the  brass ;  and  he  will  polish  the  brass  in  the  ladies'  cabin 
until  it  is  as  white  as  silver.  Because,  you  know%  Hamish,  they 
have  very  fino  yachts  in  the  South.  They  are  like  hotels  on  the 
water.     We  must  try  to  be  as  smart  as  we  can." 

"  I  do  not  know  about  the  hotels,"  said  Ilamish,  scornfully. 
"  And  perhaps  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  lief  a  hotel ;  and  Mr.  M'Arthur 
they  say  he  is  a  ferry  rich  man,  and  he  has  ferry  fine  pictures  too ; 
but  I  wass  thinking  tliat  if  I  will  be  o'ff  the  Barra  Head  on  a  bad 
night — between  the  Sgriobh  bhan  and  tlie  Barra  Head  on  a  bad 
night — it  is  not  any  hotel  I  will  be  wishing  that  I  wass  in,  but  a 
good  boat.  And  the  Umjnre  she  is  a  good  boat ;  and  I  hef  no 
fear  of  going  anywhere  in  the  world  with  her — to  London  or  to 
Inverary,  ay,  or  the  Queen's  own  castle  on  the  island — and  she 
will  go  there  safe,  and  she  will  come  back  safe ;  and  if  slie  is  not 
a  hotel — well,  perhaps  she  will  not  be  a  hotel ;  but  she  is  a  fine 
good  boat,  and  slie  has  swinging-lamps  whatever." 

But  even  the  presence  of  the  swinging-lamps,  which  Hamisli 
regarded  as  the  highest  conceivable  point  of  luxury,  did  little  to 
lesson  the  dolorousness  of  the  appearance  of  the  poor  old  Um- 
pire. As  Macleod,  seated  in  the  stern  of  the  gig,  approached  ber, 
she  looked  like  some  dingy  old  hulk  relegated  to  the  duty  of 
keeping  stores.  Her  top-mast  and  bowsprit  removed ;  not  a 
stitch  of  cord  on  her ;  onlv  the  black  iron  shrouds  remaining  of 
all  her  rigging ;  lier  skylights  and  companion-hatch  covered  with 
water-proof  —  it  was  a  sorry  spectacle.      And  then  when  they 


A    GRAVE.  •  251 

went  below,  even  the  swinging-lamps  were  blue-moulded  and  stiS. 
There  was  an  odor  of  damp  straw  throughout.  All  the  cushions 
and  carpets  had  been  removed ;  there  was  nothing  but  the  bare 
wood  of  the  floor  and  the  couches  and  the  table ;  with  a  match- 
box saturated  with  wet,  an  empty  wine-bottle,  a  newspaper  five 
months  old,  a  rusty  corkscrew,  a  patch  of  dirty  water — the  leak- 
age from  the  skyliglit  overhead. 

That  was  what  Ilamish  saw. 

AVliat  Macleod  saw,  as  he  stood  there  absently  staring  at  the 
bare  wood,  was  very  different.  It  was  a  beautiful,  comfortable 
saloon  that  lie  saw,  all  brightly  furnished  and  gilded,  and  there 
was  a  dish  of  flov/ers — heather  and  rowan-berries  intermixed — on 
the  soft  red  cover  of  the  table.  And  who  is  this  that  is  sitting- 
there,  clad  in  sailor-like  blue  and  white,  and  laughing,  as  she  talks 
in  her  soft  English  speech?  He  is  telling  her  that,  if  she  means 
to  be  a  sailor's  bride,  she  must  give  up  the  wearing  of  gloves  on 
board  ship,  although,  to  be  sure,  those  gloved  small  hands  look 
pretty  enough  as  they  rest  on  the  table  and  play  with  a  bit  of 
bell-heather.  IIow  bright  her  smile  is.  She  is  in  a  mood  for 
teasing  people.  Tlie  laughing  face,  but  for  the  gentleness  of  the 
eyes,  Avould  be  audacious.  They  say  that  the  width  between 
those  long-lashed  eyes  is  a  common  peculiarity  of  the  artist's 
face ;  but  she  is  no  longer  an  artist ;  she  is  only  the  brave  young 
yachtswoman  who  lives  at  Castle  Dare.  The  shepherds  know 
her,  and  answer  her  in  the  Gaelic  when  she  speaks  to  them  in 
passing ;  the  sailors  know  her,  and  would  adventure  their  lives  to 
gjvitify  her  slightest  wish ;  and  the  bearded  fellows  who  live  their 
solitary  life  far  out  at  Dubh  Artach  light-house,  when  she  goes 
out  to  them  with  a  new  parcel  of  books  and  magazines,  do  not 
know  how  to  show  their  Q-ladness  at  the  very  sii^ht  of  her  bonnic 
face.  There  was  once  an  actress  of  the  same  name,  but  this  is 
quite  a  different  woman.  And  to-morrow — do  you  knov/  what 
she  is  going  to  do  to-morrow  ? — to-morrow  she  is  going  away  in 
this  very  yacht  to  a  loch  in  the  distant  island  of  Lewis,  and  she 
is  going  to  bring  back  Avith  her  some  friends  of  hers  who  live 
there;  and  there  will  be  high  holiday  at  Castle  Dare.  An  actress? 
Her  cheeks  are  too  sun-browned  for  the  cheeks  of  an  actress. 

"Well,  sir?"  Hamish  said,  at  length  ;  and  Macleod  started. 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  impatiently,  *'  why  don't  you  go  on 
deck  and  find  out  where  the  leakage  of  the  skylight  is  ?" 


252  •  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Uaraisli  was  not  used  to  being  addressed  in  this  fashion,  and 
walked  away  with  a  proud  and  hurt  air.  As  he  ascended  the 
companion-way,  he  was  muttering  to  himself  in  his  native  tongue, 

"Yes,  I  am  going  on  deck  to  find  out  where  the  leakage  is, 
but  perhaps  it  would  be  easier  to  find  out  below  where  the  leak- 
a'>"e  is.  If  there  is  something  the  matter  with  the  keel,  is  it  the 
cross-trees  you  will  go  to  to  look  for  it  ?  But  I  do  not  know  what 
has  come  to  the  young  master  of  late." 

"When  Keith  Maclcod  Avas  alone,  he  sat  down  on  the  wooden 
bench  and  took  out  a  letter,  and  tried  to  find  there  some  assur- 
ance that  this  beautiful  vision  of  his  would  some  day  be  realized. 
lie  read  it,  and  reread  it;  but  his  anxious  scrutiny  only  left  h'un 
the  more  disheartened.  lie  went  up  on  deck.  He  talked  to 
Hamish  in  a  perfunctory  manner  about  the  smartening  up  of  the 
Uminre.     lie  appeared  to  have  lost  interest  in  that  already. 

And  then  again  he  would  seek  relief  in  hard  work,  and  try  to 
forget  altogether  this  hated  time  of  enforced  absence.  One  night 
word  was  brought  by  some  one  that  the  typhoid  fever  had  broken 
out  in  the  ill-drained  cottages  of  lona,  and  he  said  at  once  that 
next  morning  he  would  go  round  to  Bunessan  and  ask  the  sani- 
tary inspector  there  to  be  so  kind  as  to  inquire  into  this  matter, 
and  see  whether  something  could  not  be  done  to  improve  these 
hovels. 

"  I  am  sure  the  duke  does  not  know  of  it,  Keith,"  his  cousin 
Janet  said,  "  or  he  would  have  a  great  alteration  made." 

"  It  is  easy  to  make  alterations,"  said  he,  "  but  it  is  not  easy 
to  make  the  poor  people  take  advantage  of  them.  They  have 
such  good  health  from  the  sea-air  that  they  will  not  pay  atten- 
tion to  ordinary  cleanliness.  But  now  that  two  or  three  of  tlie 
young  girls  and  children  are  ill,  perhaps  it  is  a  good  time  to  have 
something  done." 

Next  morning,  when  he  rose  before  it  was  daybreak,  there  was 
every  promise  of  a  fine  d^y.  The  full  moon  was  setting  behind 
the  western  seas,  lighting  up  the  clouds  there  with  a  dusky  yel- 
low ;  in  the  east  there  was  a  wilder  glare  of  steely  blue  high  up 
over  the  intense  blackness  on  the  back  of  Ben-an-Sloich ;  and  the 
morning  was  still,  for  he  heard,  suddenly  piercing  the  silence,  the 
whistle  of  a  curlew,  and  that  became  more  and  more  remote  as 
the  unseen  bird  winged  its  flight  far  over  the  sea.  He  lit  the 
candles,  and  made  the  nscessary  preparations  for  his  journey; 


A    GRAVE.  253 

for  he  had  some  message  to  have  at  Kiuloch,  at  the  head  of  Loch 
Scridain,  and  lie  was  going  to  ride  round  tliat  way,  By-and-bv 
the  morning  hght  had  increased  so  much  that  he  blew  out  tlic 
candles. 

No  sooner  had  he  done  this  than  Ids  eye  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing outside  that  startled  him.  It  seemed  as  though  tjreat  clouds 
of  golden-white^  all  ablaze  in  sunshine,  rested  on  the  dark  bos- 
om of  the  deep.  Instantly  he  went  to  the  window ;  and  then 
he  saw  that  these  clouds  were  not  clouds  at  all,  but  the  islands 
around  glittering  in  the  "wliitc  wonder  of  the  snow,"  and  catch- 
ing here  and  there  the  shafts  of  the  early  sunlic;ht  that  now 
streamed  through  the  valleys  of  Mull.  The  sudden  marvel  of  it ! 
There  was  Ulva,  shining  beautiful  as  in  a  sparkling  bridal  veil ; 
and  Gometra  a  paler  blue-white  in  the  shadow;  and  Colonsay 
and  Erisgeir  also  a  cold  white;  and  Staffa  a  pale  gray;  and  then 
the  sea  that  the  gleaming  islands  rested  on  was  a  mirror  of  pale- 
green  and  rose-purple  hues  reflected  from  the  morning  sky.  It 
was  all  dream -like,  so  still,  and  beautiful,  and  silent.  But  he 
now  saw  that  that  fine  morning  would  not  last.  Behind  the 
house  clouds  of  a  suffused  yellow  began  to  blot  out  the  sparkling 
peaks  of  Ben-an-Sloich.  The  colors  of  the  plain  of  the  sea  were 
troubled  with  gusts  of  wind  until  they  disappeared  altogether. 
The  sky  in  the  north  grew  an  ominous  black,  until  the  farther 
shores  of  Loch  Tua  were  dazzling  white  against  that  bank  of 
angry  cloud.     But  to  Bunessan  he  would  go. 

Janet  Macleod  was  not  much  afraid  of  the  weather  at  any  time, 
but  she  said  to  him  at  breakfast,  in  a  laughing  way, 

"And  if  you  are  lost  in  a  snow-drift  in  Glen  Finichen, Keith, 
what  are  we  to  do  for  you  ?" 

"What  are  you  to  do  for  me? — why,  Donald  will  make  a  fine 
Lament;  and  what  more  than  that?" 

"  Cannot  you  send  one  of  the  Camerons  with  a  message, 
Keith?"  his  mother  said. 

"Well,  mother,"  said  he,  "I  think  I  will  go  on  to  Fhion-fort 
and  cross  over  to  lona  myself,  if  Mr.  Mackinnon  will  go  with 
me.  For  it  is  very  bad  the  cottages  arc  there,  I  know ;  and  if  I 
must  write  to  the  duke,  it  is  better  that  I  should  have  made  the 
inquiries  myself." 

And,  indeed,  when  Macleod  set  out  on  his  stout  yoimg  pony 
Jack,  paying  but  little  heed  to  the  cold  driftings  of  sleet  that  the 


,254  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

sharp  east  wind  was  sending  across,  it  seemed  as  though  he  were 
destined  to  perform  several  charitable  deeds  all  on  the  one  er- 
rand. For,  iirstly,  about  a  mile  from  the  house,  he  met  Duncan 
the  policeman,  who  was  making  his  weekly  round  in  the  interests 
of  morality  and  law  and  order,  and  who  had  to  have  his  book 
signed  by  the  heritor  of  Castle  Dtirc  as  sure  witness  that  his  pere- 
grinations had  extended  so  far.  And  Duncan  was  not  at  all  sorry 
to  be  saved  that  trudge  of  a  mile  in  the  face  of  those  bitter  blasts 
of  sleet ;  and  he  was  greatly  obliged  to  Sir  Keith  Macleod  for 
stopping  his  pony,  and  getting  out  his  pencil  with  his  benumbed 
fingers,  and  putting  his  initials  to  the  sheet.  And  then,  again, 
when  he  had  got  into  Glen  Finichen,  he  was  talking  to  the  pony 
and  saying, 

"  Well,  Jack,  I  don't  wonder  you  want  to  stop,  for  the  way 
this  sleet  gets  down  one's  throat  is  rather  choking.  Or  are  you 
afraid  of  the  sheep  loosening  the  rocks  away  up  there,  and  send- 
inji  two  or  three  hundred-weig;ht  on  our  head  ?" 

Then  he  happened  to  look  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  great  ra- 
vine, and  there,  quite  brown  against  the  snow,  he  saw  a  sheep  that 
had  toppled  over  some  rock,  and  was  now  lying  with  her  legs  in 
tiie  air.  He  jumped  off  his  pony,  and  left  Jack  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  It  was  a  stiff  climb  up  that  steep  precipice, 
with  the  loose  stones  slippery  with  the  sleet  and  snow ;  but  at 
last  he  got  a  good  grip  of  the  sheep  by  the  back  of  her  neck,  and 
hauled  her  out  of  the  hole  into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  put  her, 
somewhat  dazed  but  apparently  unhurt,  on  her  legs  again.  Then 
he  half  slid  and  half  ran  down  the  slope  again,  and  got  into  the 
saddle. 

But  what  was  this  now  ?  The  sky  in  the  east  had  grown  quite 
black ;  and  suddenly  this  blackness  began  to  fall  as  if  torn  down 
by  invisible  hands.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer,  until  it  resembled 
the  dishevelled  hair  of  a  woman.  And  then  there  was  a  rattle 
and  roar  of  wind  and  snow  and  hail  combined  ;  so  that  the  pony 
was  nearly  thrown  from  its  feet,  and  jMacleod  was  so  blinded 
that  at  first  he  knew  not  what  to  do.  Then  he  saw  some  rocks 
ahead,  and  he  urjxed  the  bewildered  and  stao-o-erino;  beast  forward 
throuo;h.  the  darkness  of  the  storm.  Nio-ht  seemed  to  have  re- 
turned.  There  was  a  flash  of  liixhtninn:  overhead,  and  a  crackle 
of  thunder  rolled  down  the  valley,  heard  louder  than  all  the  howl- 
ing of  the  hurricane  across  the  .mountain  sides.     And  then,  when 


A    CRAVE.  255 

they  liad  readied  this  place  of  shelter,  Maclcod  dismounted,  and 
crept  as  close  as  he  could  into  the  lee  of  the  rocks. 

He  was  startled  by  a  voice ;  it  was  only  that  of  old  John 
Macintyre,  the  postman,  who  was  glad  enough  to  get  into  this 
place  of  refuge  too. 

"  It's  a  bad  d;iy  for  you  to  be  out  this  da}^,  Sir  Keith,"  said  he, 
iu  the  Gaelic,  "  and  you  have  no  cause  to  be  out ;  and  why  will 
you  not  go  back  to  Castle  Dare  ?" 

"  Have  you  any  letter  for  me,  John  ?"  said  he,  eagerly. 

Oil  yes,  there  was  a  letter ;  and  the  old  man  was  astonished  to 
see  how  quickly  Sir  Keith  Maclcod  took  that  letter,  and  how  anx- 
iously be  read  it,  as  though  the  awfulness  of  the  storm  had  no 
concern  for  him  at  all.  And  wliat  was  it  all  about,  this  wet  sheet 
that  he  had  to  hold  tight  between  liis  hands,  or  the  gusts  that 
swept  round  the  rock  would  have  whirled  it  up  and  away  over 
the  giant  ramparts  of  the  Bourg?  It  was  a  very  pretty  lettei', 
and  rather  merry;  for  it  was  all  about  a  fancy-dress  ball  which 
was  to  take  place  at  Mr.  Lemucrs  house ;  and  ail  the  people  were 
to  wear  a  Spanish  costume  of  the  time  of  Philip  IV. ;  and  there 
were  to  be  very  grand  doings  indeed.  And  as  Keith  Maclcod 
had  nothing  to  do  in  the  dull  winter-time  but  devote  himself  to 
books,  would  ho  be  so  kind  as  to  read  up  about  that  period,  and 
advise  her  as  to  which  historical  character  she  ouo;ht  to  assume  ? 

Maclcod  burst  out  laughing,  in  a  strange  sort  of  way,  and  put 
the  wet  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  led  Jack  out  into  the  road  again. 

"  Sir  Keith,  Sir  Keith  !"  cried  the  old  man,  "  you  will  not  go  on 
now  ?"  And  as  he  spoke,  another  blast  of  snow  tore  across  the 
glen,  and  therqrwas  a  rumble  of  thunder  among  the  hills. 

"  Why,  John,"  Maclcod  called  back  again  from  the  gray  gloom 
of  the  whirling  snow  and  sleet,  "  would  \  ou  have  me  go  home 
and  read  books  too?  Do  you  know  what  a  fancy-dress  ball  is, 
John  ?  x\nd  do  you  know  what  they  think  of  us  in  the  South, 
John:  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  here  in  the  winter-time — 
iiothing  to  do  here  but  read  books?" 

The  old  man  heard  him  laughing  to  himself  in  that  odd  wav, 
as  he  rode  off  and  disappeared  into  the  driving  snow ;  and  his 
heart  was  heavy  within  him,  and  his  mind  filled  with  strange 
forebodings.  It  was  a  dark  and  an  awful  glen,  this  great  ravine 
that  led  down  ^o  the  solitary  shores  of  Loch  Scridain. 


256  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

OVER    THE    SEAS. 

But  no  liarm  at  all  came  of  that  reckless  ride  throuo-lj  llie 
storm  ;  and  in  a  day  or  two's  time  Macleod  had  almost  argued 
liimself  into  the  belief  that  it  was  but  natural  for  a  young  girl  to 
be  fascinated  by  these  new  friends.  And  how  could  he  protest 
against  a  fanc3--dress  ball,  when  he  himself  had  gone  to  one  on 
]iis  brief  visit  to  London  ?  And  it  was  a  proof  of  her  confidence 
in.  him  that  she  wished  to  take  his  advice  about  lier  costume. 

Then  he  turned  to  other  matters ;  for,  as  the  slow  weeks  went 
by,  one  eagerly  disposed  to  look  for  the  signs  of  the  coming 
spring  might  occasionally  detect  a  new  freshness  in  the  morning 
air,  or  even  find  a  little  bit  of  the  whitlow-OTass  in  flower  amono- 
Ihc  moss  of  an  old  wall.  And  Major  Stuart  had  come  over  to 
Dare  once  or  twice ;  and  had  privately  given  Lady  Macleod  and 
her  niece  such  enthusiastic  accounts  of  Miss  Gertrude  White  that 
the  references  to  her  forth-coming  visit  ceased  to  be  formal  and 
became  friendly  and  matter-of-course.  It  was  rarely,  however, 
that  Keith  Macleod  mentioned  her  name.  He  did  not  seem  to 
wish  for  any  confidant.     Perhaps  lier  letters  were  enough. 

But  on  one  occasion  Janet  Macleod  said  to  him,  with  a  shy 
smile,  « 

"  I  think  you  must  be  a  very  patient  lover,  Keith,  to  spend  all 
the  winter  here.  Another  young  man  would  have  wished  to  go 
to  London." 

"And  I  would  go  to  London,  too !"  he  said  suddenly,  and  then 
he  stopped.  He  was  somewhat  embarrassed.  "  "Well,  I  will  tell 
you,  Janet.  I  do  not  wish  to  sec  her  any  more  as  an  actress,  and 
she  says  it  is  better  that  I  do  not  go  to  London  ;  and — and,  you 
know,  she  will  soon  cease  to  be  an  actress." 

"  But  why  not  now,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  with  some  wonder, 
"if  she  has  such  a  great  dislike  for  it?" 

"That  I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  somcwliat  gloomily. 

But  he  wrote  to  Gertrude  White,  and  pressed  the  point  once 


OVER    THE    r.EAS.  257 

more,  witli  £^rcat  respect,  it  is  true,  but  still  with  an  earnestness 
of  pleadin<>'  that  showed  liow  near  the  matter  hiy  to  his  heart. 
It  was  a  letter  that  would  have  touched  most  women ;  and  even 
Miss  Gertrude  White  was  pleased  to  see  how  anxiously  interested 
lie  was  in  her. 

"But  you  know,  my  dear  Keith,"  she  wrote  back,  "when  peo- 
ple are  going  to  take  a  great  plunge  into  the  sea,  they  are  warned 
to  wet  their  head  first.  And  don't  you  think  I  should  accustom 
myself  to  the  change  you  have  in  store  for  me  by  degrees?  In 
any  case,  my  leaving  the  stage  at  the  present  moment  could  make 
no  diflerence  to  us — you  in  the  Highlands,  I  in  London.  And 
do  you  know,  sir,  that  your  request  is  particularly  ill-timed ;  for, 
as  it  happens,  I  am  about  to  enter  into  a  new  dramatic  project  of 
which  I  should  probably  never  have  heard  but  for  you.  Does 
that  astonish  you  ?  Well,  here  is  the  story.  It  appears  that  you 
told  the  Duchess  of  Wexford  that  I  would  give  her  a  perfonn- 
ance  for  the  new  training-ship  she  is  getting  up ;  and,  being  chal- 
lenged, could  I  break  a  promise  made  by  you  ?  And  only  fancy 
what  these  clever  people  have  arranged,  to  flatter  their  own  van- 
ity in  the  name  of  charity.  They  have  taken  St.  George's  Hall, 
and  the  distinguished  amateurs  have  chosen  the  play ;  and  the 
play — don't  laugh,  dear  Keith — is  '  Romeo  and  Juliet !'  And  I  am 
to  play  Juliet  to  the  Romeo  of  the  Honorable  Captain  Brierley, 
who  is  a  very  good-looking  man,  but  who  is  so  solemn  and  stiff 
a  Romeo  that  I  know  I  shall  burst  out  laughing  on  the  dreaded 
night.  He  is  as  nervous  now  at  a  morning  rehearsal  as  if  it 
were  his  debut  at  Drury  Lane;  and  he  never  even  takes  my  hand 
without  an  air  of  apology,  as  if  he  were  saying,  '  Really,  Miss 
White,  you  must  pardon  me ;  I  am  compelled  by  my  part  to 
take  your  hand;  otherwise  I  would  die  rather  than  be  guilty  of 
such  a  liberty.'  And  when  he  addresses  me  in  the  balcony-scene, 
he  toill  not  look  at  me ;  he  makes  his  protestations  of  love  to 
the  flies ;  and  when  I  make  my  fine  speeches  to  him,  he  blushes 
if  his  eyes  should  by  chance  meet  mine,  just  as  if  he  had  been 
guilty  of  some  awful  indiscretion.  I  know,  dear  Keith,  you  don't 
like  to  sec  me  act,  but  you  might  come  up  for  this  occasion  onlv. 
Friar  Lawrence  is  the  funniest  thing  I  have  seen  for  ao-es.  The 
nurse,  however.  Lady  Bletherin,  is  not  at  all  bad.  I  hear  there  is 
to  be  a  grand  supper  afterward  somewhere,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
I  shall  be  presented  to  a  number  of  ladies  who  v.ill  speak  for  the 


258  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 


first  time  to  an  actress  and  be  possessed  •with  a  -wild  fear;  only, 
if  tliey  have  daughters,  I  suppose  tbey  wlU  keep  the  fluttering- 
hcartcd  youno-  things  out  of  the  way,  lest  I  should  suddenly  break 
out  into  blue  flame,  and  then  disappear  through  the  floor.  I  am 
quite  convinced  that  Captain  Brierley  considers  me  a  bold  person 
because  I  look  at  him  when  I  have  to  say, 

"  '  0  gentle  Romeo, 
If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully !' " 

Macleod  crushed  this  letter  together,  and  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket,     lie  strode  out  of  the  roon),  and  called  for  Ilamish. 

"Send  Donald  down  to  the  quay,"  said  he,  "and  tell  them  to 
get  the  boat  ready.     And  he  will  take  down  my  gun  too." 

Old  Ilamish,  noticing  the  expression  of  his  master's  eyes,  went 
off  quickly  enough,  and  soon  got  hold  of  Donald,  the  piper-ltid. 

"  Donald,"  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic,  "  you  will  run  down  to  the 
quay  as  fast  as  your  legs  can  carry  you,  and  you  will  tell  them  to 
get  the  boat  ready,  and  not  to  lose  any  time  in  getting  the  boat 
ready,  and  to  have  the  seats  dry,  and  let  there  be  no  talking  when 
Sir  Keith  gets  on  board.  And  here  is  the  gun  too,  and  the  bag; 
and  you  will  tell  them  to  have  no  talking  among  themselves  this 
day." 

When  Macleod  got  down  to  the  small  stone  pier,  the  two  men 
were  in  the  boat.  Johnnv  Wickes  was  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  storehouse. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  for  a  sail,  Johnny?"  Macleod  said, 
abruptly,  but  there  was  no  longer  that  dangerous  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh  ves,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly ;  for  he  had  long  ago  lost 
liis  dread  of  the  sea. 

"Get  in, then,  and  get  up  to  the  bow." 

So  Johnny  Wickes  went  cautiously  down  the  few  slippery  stone 
steps,  half  tumbled  into  the  bottom  of  the  great  open  boat,  and 
then  scrambled  up  to  the  bow. 

"  AVhere  will  you  be  for  going,  sir?"  said  one  of  the  men  when 
Macleod  had  jumped  into  the  stern  and  taken  the  tiller. 

"Anywhere — right  out!"  he  answered,  carelessly. 

But  it  was  all  very  well  to  say  "  riglit  out !"  when  there  was  a 
stiff  breeze  blowing  right  in.  Scarcely  had  the  boat  put  her  nose 
or.t  beyond  the  pier,  and  while  as  yet  there  was  but  little  Avay  on 
}  i',  when  a  big  sea  caught  her,  springing  high  over  her  bows 


OVER    TIIK    SEAS.  259 

and  coniing  rattlinii;  down  on  lior  with  a  noise  as  of  pistol-sLot-;. 
The  chief  victim  of  this  dehi'fc  Avas  the  luckless  Johnnv  Wickes, 
who  tumbled  down  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  vehemently  blinv- 
ing  the  salt-water  out  of  his  mouth,  and  rubbing  his  knuckles  into 
his  eyes.     Macleod  burst  out  laughing. 

""What's  the  good  of  you  as  a  lookout?"  he  cried.  "Didn't 
you  sec  the  water  coming?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Johnny,  ruefully  laughing,  too.  But  he  would 
not  be  beaten.  lie  scrambled  up  again  to  his  post,  and  clung 
there,  despite  the  fierce  wind  and  the  clouds  of  spray. 

"Keep  her  close  up,  sir,"  said  the  man  who  had  the  sheet  of 
the  huge  lug-sail  in  both  liis  hands,  as  he  cast  a  glance  out  at  the 
darkening  sea. 

But  this  great  boat,  rude  and  rough  and  dirty  as  she  appeared, 
was  a  splendid  specimen  of  her  class  ;  and  they  know  how  to  build 
such  boats  up  about  that  part  of  the  world.  No  matter  with  how 
staggering  a  plunge  she  went  down  into  the  yawning  green  gulf, 
the  white  foam  hissing  away  from  her  sides ;  before  the  next  wave, 
high,  awful,  threatening,  had  come  down  on  her  with  a  crash  as 
of  mountains  falling,  she  had  glided  buoyantly  upward,  and  the 
heavy  blow  only  made  her  bows  spring  the  higher,  as  though  she 
would  shake  herself  free,  like  a  bird,  from  the  wet.  But  it  was  a 
wild  day  to  be  out.  So  heavy  and  black  was  the  sky  in  the  v.est 
that  the  surface  of  the  sea  out  to  the  horizon  seemed  to  be  a 
moving  mass  of  white  foam,  with  only  streaks  of  green  and  pur- 
ple in  it.  The  various  islands  changed  every  minute  as  the  wild 
clouds  whirled  past.  Already  the  great  cliffs  about  Dare  had 
grown  distant  and  faint  as  seen  through  the  spray ;  and  here 
were  the  rocks  of  Colonsay,  bhick  as  jet  as  they  reappeared 
tlu'ough  the  successive  deluges  of  white  foam;  and  far  over 
there,  a  still  gloomier  mass  against  the  gloomy  sky  told  where 
the  huge  Atlantic  breakers  were  rolling  in  their  awful  thunder 
into  the  Staffa  caves. , 

"  I  would  keep  her  away  a  bit,"  said  the  sailor  next  Macleod. 
lie  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  heavy  breakers  that  were  crash- 
ing on  to  the  Colonsay  rocks. 

Macleod,  with  his  teeth  set  liard  against  the  wind,  was  not 
thinking  of  the  Colonsay  rocks  more  than  was  necessary  to  give 
them  a  respectful  berth. 

"  Were  you   ever  in   a  theatre,  Duncan  ?"  he   said,  or  rather 


260  MACLEOD    OF    PAKE. 

bawled,  to  the  brown-visaged  and  black-liaircd  young  fellow  who 
bad  now  got  the  sheet  of  the  lug-sail  under  his  foot  as  well  as  in 
the  firm  grip  of  his  hands. 

"  Oh  yes,  Sir  Keith,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  the  salt-water  away 
from  his  short  beard.  "  It  was  at  Greenock.  I  -will  be  at  the 
theatre,  and  more  than  three  times  or  two  times." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  have  a  parcel  of  actors  and  actresses 
with  us  now  ?"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"'Deed,  I  would  not  like  it  at  all,"  said  Duncan,  seriously; 
and  he  twisted  the  sheet  of  the  sail  twice  round  his  right  wrist, 
so  that  his  relieved  left  hand  could  convey  a  bit  of  wet  tobacco 
to  his  moutii.  "  The  women  they  would  chump  apout,  and  then 
you  do  not  know  what  will  happen  at  all." 

"A  little  bit  away  yet,  sir !"  cried  out  the  other  sailor,  Avho  was 
looking  out  to  windward,  with  his  head  between  the  gunv/ale  and 
the  sail.     "  There  is  a  bad  rock  off  the  point." 

"Why,  it  is  half  a  mile  north  of  our  course  as  we  are  now  go- 
ing I"  Macleod  said. 

"Oh  yes,  half  a  mile!"  the  man  said  to  himself;  "but  I  do 
not  like  half  miles,  and  half  miles,  and  half  miles  on  a  dav  like 
this!" 

And  so  they  went  plunging  and  staggering  and  bounding  on- 
ward, with  the  roar  of  the  water  all  ai'ound  them,  and  the  foam 
at  her  bows,  as  it  sprung  high  into  the  air,  showing  quite  white 
against  the  black  sky  ahead.  The  younger  lad,  Duncan,  was 
clearly  of  opinion  that  his  master  was  running  too  near  the 
shores  of  Colonsay  ;  but  he  would  say  no  more,  for  he  knew  that 
Macleod  had  a  better  knowledge  of  the  currents  and  rocks  of  this 
wild  coast  than  any  man  on  the  main-land  of  Mull.  John  Cam- 
eron, forward,  kept  his  head  down  to  the  gunwale,  his  eyes  look- 
ing far  over  that  howling  waste  of  sea;  Dimcan,  his  younger 
brother,  had  his  gaze  fixed  mostly  on  the  brown  breadth  of  the 
sail,  hammered  at  by  the  gusts  of  wind ;  while  as  for  the  boy  at 
the  bow,  that  enterprising  youth  had  got  a  rope's  end,  and  was 
endeavoring  to  strike  at  the  crest  of  each  huge  wave  as  it  came 
ploughing  along  in  its  resistless  strength. 

But  at  one  moment  the  boat  gave  a  heavier  lurch  than  usual, 
and  the  succeeding  wave  struck  her  badly.  In  the  great  rush  of 
water  that  then  ran  bv  her  side,  Macleod's  startled  eve  seemed  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  something  red — something  blazing  and  burn- 


OVER    THE    SEAS.  261 

ing  red  in  the  waste  of  green,  and  almost  the  same  glance  showed 
him  there  was  no  boy  at  the  bow  !  Instantly,  with  just  one  cry 
to  arrest  the  attention  of  the  men,  he  had  slipped  over  the  side  of 
the  boat  just  as  an  otter  slips  off  a  rock.  The  two  men  were  be- 
wildered but  for  a  second.  One  sprang  to  the  halyards,  and  down 
came  the  great  lug-sail;  the  other  got  out  one  of  the  great  oars, 
and  the  mighty  blade  of  it  fell  into  the  bulk  of  the  next  wave  as 
if  he  would  with  one  sweep  tear  her  head  round.  Like  two  mad- 
men the  men  pulled ;  and  the  wind  was  with  them,  and  the  tide 
also ;  but,  nevertheless,  wdien  they  caught  sight,  just  for  a  mo- 
ment, of  some  object  behind  them,  that  was  a  terrible  way  away. 
Yet  there  was  no  time,  they  thought,  or  seemed  to  think,  to  hoist 
the  sail  again,  and  the  small  dingy  attached  to  the  boat  would 
have  been  swamped  in  a  second ;  and  so  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  the  deadly  struggle  with  those  immense  blades  against  the 
heavy  resisting  mass  of  the  boat.  John  Cameron  looked  round 
again ;  then,  with  an  oath,  he  pulled  his  oar  across  the  boat. 

"  Up  with  the  sail,  lad  !'"  he  shouted ;  and  again  he  sprang  to 
the  halyards. 

The  seconds,  few  as  they  were,  that  were  necessary  to  this  op- 
eration seemed  ages ;  but  no  sooner  had  the  wind  got  a  purchase 
on  the  breadth  of  the  sail,  than  the  boat  flew  through  the  water, 
for  she  was  now  running  free. 

"He  has  got  him!  I  can  see  the  two!"  shouted  the  elder 
Cameron. 

And  as  for  the  younger?  At  this  mad  speed  the  boat  would 
be  close  to  Macleod  in  another  second  or  two ;  but  in  that  brief 
space  of  time  the  younger  Cameron  had  flung  his  clothes  off,  and 
stood  there  stark-naked  in  the  cutting  March  wind. 

"  That  is  foolishness  !"  his  brother  cried  in  the  Gaelic.  "  You 
will  have  to  take  an  oar !" 

"I  will  not  take  an  oar!"  the  other  cried,  with  both  hands 
ready  to  let  go  the  halyards.  "And  if  it  is  foolishness,  this  is 
the  foolishness  of  it :  I  will  not  let  you  or  any  man  say  that  Sir 
Keith  Macleod  was  in  the  water,  and  Duncan  Cameron  went  home 
with  a  dry  skin  !" 

And  Duncan  Cameron  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  for  as  the 
boat  went  plunging  forward  to  the  neighborhood  in  which  they 
occasionally  saw  the  head  of  Macleod  appear  on  the  side  of  a 
wave  and  then  disappear  again  as  soon  as  the  wave  broke,  and  as 


262  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

soon  as  tlie  lug-sail  had  been  rattled  down,  lie  sprung  clear  from 
the  side  of  the  boat.  For  a  second  or  two,  John  Cameron,  left 
by  himself  in  the  boat,  could  not  see  any  one  of  the  three ;  bnt 
at  last  he  saw  the  black  head  of  his  brother,  and  tlicn  some  few 
yards  beyond,  just  as  a  wave  happened  to  roll  by,  he  saw  his  mas- 
ter and  the  bov.  The  boat  had  almost  enouo:h  wav  on  her  to 
carry  her  the  length  ;  he  had  but  to  pull  at  the  huge  oar  to  bring 
her  head  round  a  bit.  And  he  pulled,  madly  and  blindly,  until 
he  was  startled  by  a  cry  close  by.  He  sprang  to  the  side  of  the 
boat.  There  was  his  brother  drifting  by,  holding  the  boy  -with 
one  arm.  John  Cameron  rushed  to  the  stern  to  fling  a  rope,  but 
Duncan  Cameron  had  been  drifting  by  with  a  purpose;  for  as 
soon  as  he  got  clear  of  the  bigger  boat,  he  struck  for  the  rope  of 
the  dingy,  and  got  hold  of  that,  and  was  safe.  And  here  was 
the  master,  too,  clinging  to  the  side  of  the  dingy  so  as  to  recover 
his  breath,  but  not  attempting  to  board  the  cockle-shell  in  these 
plunging  waters.  There  were  tears  running  down  John  Cam- 
eron's rugged  face  as  he  drew  the  three  up  and  over  the  side  of 
the  big  boat. 

"  And  if  you  wass  drowned.  Sir  Keith,  it  wass  not  me  would 
have  carried  the  story  to  Castle  Dare.  I  would  just  as  soon  have 
been  drowned  too." 

"Have  you  any  whiskey,  John ?"  Macleod  said,  pushing  the 
hair  out  of  his  eyes,  and  trying  to  get  his  mustache  out  of  his 
mouth. 

In  ordinary  circumstances  John  Cameron  would  have  told  a 
lie;  but  on  this  occasion  he  hurriedly  bade  the  still  undressed 
Duncan  to  take  the  tiller,  and  he  went  forward  to  a  locker  at  the 
bows  which  w\as  usually  kept  for  bait,  and  from  thence  he  got  a 
black  bottle  which  was  half  full. 

"  Now,  Johnny  AVickes,"  Macleod  said  to  the  boy,  Avho  Avas 
quite  blinded  and  bewildered,  but  otherwise  apparently  not  much 
the  worse,  "  swallov/  a  mouthful  of  this,  you  young  rascal ;  and  if 
I  catch  you  imitating  a  dolphin  again,  it  is  a  rope's  end  you'll 
l)ave,  and  not  good  Highland  whiskey." 

Johnny  Wickes  did  not  understand ;  but  he  swallowed  the 
whiskey,  and  then  he  began  to  look  about  him  a  bit. 

"Will  I  put  my  clothes  round  him.  Sir  Keith?"  Duncan  Cam- 
eron said. 

"And  go  home  that  way  to  Dare?"  Macleod  said,  with  a  loud 


OVER    THE    SEAS.  203 

lau2;h.  "Get  ou  your  clothes,  Duncan,  lad,  and  get  up  the  sail 
ao-ain ;  and  we  will  see  if  there  is  a  dram  left  for  us  in  the  bot- 
tle. John  Cameron,  confound  you !  Avhere  are  you  putting  hur 
head  to  ?" 

John  Cameron,  ^yho  had  again  taken  the  tiller,  seemed,  as  one 
demented.  lie  was  talking  to  himself  rapidly  in  Gaelic,  and  his 
brows  were  frowning ;  and  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  that  he  was 
putting  the  head  of  the  boat,  which  had  now  some  little  way  on 
her  by  reason  of  the  wind  and  tide,  though  she  had  no  sail  up,  a 
good  deal  too  near  the  southernmost  point  of  Colonsay. 

Roused  from  this  angry  reverie,  he  shifted  her  course  a  bit; 
and  then,  when  his  brotlier  had  got  his  clothes  on,  he  helped  to 
hoist  the  sail,  and  again  they  flew  onward  and  shoreward,  along 
with  the  waves  that  seemed  to  be  racing  them;  but  all  the  same 
he  kept  grumbling  and  growling  to  himself  in  the  Gaelic.  Mean- 
while Macleod  had  got  a  huge  tarpaulin  overcoat  and  wrapped 
Johnny  Wickes  in  it,  and  put  him  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 

"  You  will  soon  be  warm  enongh  in  that.  Master  Wickes,"  said 
he ;  "  the  chances  are  you  will  come  out  boiled  red,  like  a  lobster. 
And  I  would  strongly  advise  you,  if  we  can  slip  into  the  house 
and  get  dry  clothes  on,  not  to  say  a  word  of  your  escapade  to 
Hamish." 

"Ay,  Sir  Keith,"  said  John  Cameron,  eagerly,  in  his  native 
tongue, "  that  is  what  I  will  be  saying  to  myself.  If  the  story  is 
told — and  Ilaraish  will  hear  that  you  will  nearly  drown  yourself 
— what  is  it  he  will  not  do  to  that  boy  ?  It  is  for  killing  him  he 
will  be." 

"Not  as  bad  as  that,  John,"  Macleod  said,  good-naturedly. 
"  Come,  there  is  a  glass  for  each  of  us  ;  and  you  may  give  me  the 
tiller  now." 

"  I  will  take  no  v/hiskey,  Sir  Keith,  with  thanks  to  you,"  said 
John  Cameron  ;  "  I  was  not  in  the  water." 

"There  is  plenty  for  all,  man  !" 

"  I  was  not  in  the  water." 

"  I  tell  you  there  is  plenty  for  all  of  us !" 

"  There  is  tlie  more  for  you,  Sir  Keith,"  said  he,  stubbornly. 

And  then,  as  great  good  luck  would  have  it,  it  was  found,  when 
they  got  ashore,  that  Ilamish  had  gone  away  as  far  as  Salem  on 
business  of  some  sort  or  other;  and  the  story  told  by  the  two 
Camcrons  was  that  Johnny  Wickes,  Avhose  clothes  were  sent  into 


204  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

tlio  kitclicii  to  be  dried,  and  wlio  was  himself  put  to  bed,  had 
fallen  into  the  water  down  by  the  quay;  and  nothing  at  all  was 
said  about  Keith  Macleod  having  had  to  leap  into  the  sea  off  the 
coast  of  Colonsay.  Macleod  got  into  Castle  Dare  by  a  back  way, 
and  changed  his  clothes  in  his  own  room.  Then  he  went  away 
up-stairs  to  the  small  chamber  in  which  Johnny  Wickes  lay  in 
bed. 

"  You  have  bad  the  soup,  then  ?  You  look  pretty  comforta- 
ble." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  whose  face  was  now  flushed  red  with 
the  reaction  after  the  cold.     "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"For  tumbling  into  the  water?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  look  here,  Master  Wickes:  you  chose  a  good  time.  If 
I  had  had  trousers  on,  and  waterproof  leggings  over  them,  do  you 
know  where  you  would  be  at  the  present  moment?  You  would 
be  having  an  interesting  conversation  with  a  number  of  lobsters 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  oS  the  Colonsay  shores.  And  so  you 
thought  because  I  had  my  kilt  on,  that  I  could  fish  you  out  of  the 
water?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Johnny  "Wickes.     "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"Well,  you  will  remember  that  it  was  owing  to  the  Highland 
kilt  that  you  were  picked  out  of  the  water,  and  that  it  was  High- 
land whiskey  put  life  into  your  blood  again  ;  you  will  remember 
that  well.  And  if  any  strange  lady  should  come  here  from  Eng- 
land and  ask  you  how  vou  like  the  Highlands,  vou  will  not  for- 
get ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"And  you  can  have  Oscar  up  here  in  the  room  with  yon,  if 
you  like,  until  they  let  you  out  of  bed  again ;  or  you  can  have 
Donald  to  play  the  pipes  to  you  until  dinner-time." 

Master  Wickes  chose  the  less  heroic  remedy ;  but,  indeed,  the 
companionship  of  Oscar  was  not  needed ;  for  Janet  Macleod — 
who  might  just  as  well  have  tried  to  keep  her  heart  from  beating 
as  to  keep  herself  away  from  any  one  who  was  ill  or  supposed  to 
be  ill — herself  came  up  to  this  little  room,  and  was  very  attentive 
to  Master  Wickes,  not  because  he  was  suffering  very  much  from 
the  effects  of  his  ducking,  but  because  he  was  a  child,  and  alone, 
and  a  stranger.  And  to  lier  Jolinny  Wickes  told  the  v.hole  story, 
despite  the  warnings  he  had  received  that,  if  Hamish  came  to 


OVER    THE    SEAS.  265 

IciiYu  of  the  peril  in  which  Macleod  had  been  placed  by  the  in- 
caiitioii  of  the  EnrfUsh  lad,  the  latter  would  have  a  bad  time  of 
it  at  Castle  Dare.  Then  Janet  hastened  away  again,  and,  finding 
her  cousin's  bedroom  empty,  entered ;  and  there  discovered  that 
he  had,  with  customary  recklessness,  hung  up  his  wet  clothes  in 
his  wardrobe.  She  liad  them  at  once  conveyed  away  to  the 
lower  regions,  and  she  went,  with  earnest  remonstrances,  to  her 
cousin,  and  would  have  him  drink  some  hot  whiskey-and-watcr ; 
and  when  Hamish  arrived,  went  straight  to  liim  too,  and  told 
him  the  story  in  such- a  way  that  he  said, 

"Ay,  ay,  it  wass  the  poor  little  lad  !  And  he  will  mck  a  good 
sailor  yet.  And  it  was  not  niucb  danchcr  for  him  when  Sir 
Keith  wass  in  the  boat ;  for  there  is  no  one  in  the  wliole  of  the 
islands  will  sweeni  in  the  water  as  he  can  sweem  ;  and  it  is  like  a 
fish  in  the  water  that  lie  is." 

That  was  about  the  only  incident  of  note,  and  little  was  made 
of  it,  that  disturbed  the  monotony  of  life  at  Castle  Dare  at  this 
time.  But  by -and -by,  as  the  days  passed,  and  as  eager  eyes 
looked  abroad,  signs  showed  that  the  beautiful  summer-time  was 
drawing  near.  The  deep  blue  came  into  the  skies  and  the  seas 
ag:ain :  the  yellow  mornino-s  broke  earlier.  Far  into  the  eveninac 
they  could  still  make  out  the  Dutchman's  Cap,  and  Lunga,  and 
the  low-lying  Coll  and  Tirce,  amidst  the  glow  at  the  horizon  af- 
ter the  blood-red  sunset  had  gone  down.  The  white  stars  of  the 
saxifrage  appeared  in  the  woods ;  the  white  daisies  were  in  the 
grass.  As  you  walked  along  the  lower  slopes  of  Ben-an-Sloich, 
the  grouse  that  rose  were  in  pairs.  What  a  fresh  green  this  Avas 
that  shimmered  over  the  young  larches !  He  sent  her  a  basket 
of  the  first  trout  he  caught  in  the  loch. 

The  wonderful  glad  time  came  nearer  and  nearer.  And  every 
clear  and  beautiful  day  that  shone  over  the  white  sands  of  lona 
and  the  green  shores  of  Ulva,  witb  the  blue  seas  all  breaking  joy- 
fully along  the  rocks,  was  but  a  day  thrown  away  that  should 
have  been  reserved  for  her.  And  whether  she  came  by  the  Du- 
nara  from  Greenock,  or  by  the  Pioneer  from  Oban,  would  they 
hang  the  vessel  in  white  roses  in  her  honor,  and  have  velvet  car- 
petings  on  the  gangways  for  the  dainty  small  feet  to  tread  on  ? 
and  would  the  bountiful  heavens  grant  but  one  shining  blue  day 
for  her  first  glimpse  of  the  far  and  lonely  Castle  Dare?  Janet, 
the  kind-hearted,  was  busy  from  morning  till  night;  she  herself 

12 


2GG  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

would  place  the  scant  flowers  tliat  could  be  g*ot  in  the  guests' 
rooms.  The  stev.-ard  of  the  Pioneer  had  undertaken  to  bring 
any  number  of  tilings  from  Oban;  Donald,  the  piper-lad,  had  a 
brand-new  suit  of  tartan,  and  was  determined  that,  short  of  the 
very  cracking  of  his  lungs,  the  English  lady  would  have  a  good 
salute  played  for  her  that  day.  The  Umpire,  all  smartened  up 
now,  had  been  put  in  a  safe  anchorage  in  Loch-na-Keal ;  the  men 
wore  their  new  joi-seys;  the  long  gig,  painted  white,  with  a  band 
of  gold,  was  brought  along  to  Dare,  so  that  it  might,  if  the 
weather  were  favorable,  go  out  to  bring  the  Fair  Stranger  to  her 
Iliohland  home.  And  then  the  heart  of  her  lover  cried,  "O 
winds  and  seas,  if  onhj  for  one  day,  he  gentle  noio !  so  that  hrr 
first  thoughts  of  tcs  shall  be  all  of  j)cace  and  loveliness,  and  of  a 
glad  ivelcome,  and  the  delight  of  clear  summed'  dagsP^ 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

HAMISH, 


And  now — look !  The  sky  is  as  blue  as  the  heart  of  a  sap- 
phire, and  the  sea  would  be  as  blue  too,  only  for  the  glad  white 
of  the  rippling  waves.  And  the  wind  is  as  soft  as  the  winnow- 
ing of  a  sea-gull's  wing ;  and  green,  gTccn  are  the  laughing  shores 
of  TJIva.  The  bride  is  coming.  All  around  the  coast  the  peo- 
ple are  on  the  alert — Donald  in  his  new  finery  ;  Hamish  half  fran- 
tic with  excitement ;  the  crew  of  the  Umpire  down  at  the  quay ; 
and  the  scarlet  flag  fluttering  from  the  top  of  the  white  pole. 
And  behold ! — as  the  cry  goes  along  that  the  steamer  is  in  sight, 
what  is  this  strange  thino-?  She  comes  clear  out  from  the  Sound 
of  lona;  but  who  has  ever  seen  before  that  long  line  running 
from  her  stem  to  her  top-mast  and  down  again  to  her  stern  ? 

"  Oh,  Keith  1"  Janet  Macleod  cried,  with  sudden  tears  starting 
to  her  eyes,  "do  yon  know  what  Captain  Macallum  has  done  for 
you  ?     The  steamer  has  got  all  her  flags  out !" 

Macleod  flushed  red. 

"Well,  Janet,"  said  he,  "I  wrote  to  Captain  Macallum,  and  I 
asked  him  to  be  so  good  as  to  pay  them  some  little  attention ; 
but  who  was  to  knovv^  that  lie  would  do  that  ?" 

"And  a  very  proper  thing,  too,"  said  Mnjor  Stuart,  who  was 


IIAMISH.  2G7 

standing  lianl  by.  "A  very  pretty  coinpliiiicrit  to  strangers; 
and  vou  know  you  liavo  not  many  visitors  coming  to  Castle 
Dare." 

Tlie  major  spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  way.  Wliy  should  not 
the  steamer  show  her  bunting  in  honor  of  Macleod's  guests? 
But  all  the  same  the  gallant  soldier,  as  he  stood  and  watched  the 
steamer  coming  along,  became  a  little  bit  excited  too ;  and  he 
whistled  to  himself,  and  tapped  his  toe  on  the  ground.  It  was  a 
fine  air  he  was  whistling.     It  was  all  about  breast-knots! 

"Into  th.e  boat  with  you  now,  lads  1"  Macleod  called  out;  and 
first  of  all  to  go  down  to  the  steps  was  Donald ;  and  the  silver 
and  cairngorms  on  his  pipes  were  burnished  so  that  tliey  shone 
like  diamonds  in  the  sunlight;  and  he  wore  his  cap  so  far  on 
one  side  that  nobody  could  understand  how  it  did  not  fall  otf. 
Macleod  was  alone  in  the  stern.  Away  the  white  boat  went 
through  the  blue  waves. 

"Put  your  strength  into  it  now,"  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic,  "and 
show  them  how  the  Mull  lads  can  row  1" 

And  then  again — 

"  Steady  now !     Well  rowed  all !" 

And  here  are  all  the  people  crowding  to  one  side  of  the  steam- 
er to  see  the  strangers  off ;  and  the  captain  is  on  the  bridge ;  and 
Sandy  is  at  the  open  gangway ;  and,  at  the  top  of  the  iron  steps, 
there  is  only  one  Macleod  sees — all  in  white  and  blue — and  he 
has  caught  her  eyes — at  last !  at  last ! 

He  seized  the  rope  and  sprang  up  the  iron  ladder. 

""Welcome  to  you,  sweetheart!"  said  he, in  a  low  voice, and  his 
trembling  liand  grasped  hers. 

"How  do  yon,  Keith?"  said  she.  "Must  we  go  down  these 
steps  ?" 

He  had  no  time  to  wonder  over  the  coldness — the  petulance  al- 
most— of  her  manner ;  for  he  had  to  get  both  father  and  daugh- 
ter safely  conducted  into  the  stern  of  the  boat ;  and  their  luggage 
had  to  be  got  in  ;  and  he  had  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  the  stew- 
ard; and  finally  he  had  to  hand  down  some  loaves  of  bread  to 
the  man  next  him,  who  placed  them  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"The  commissariat  arrangements  are  primitive,"  said  Mr. 
White,  in  an  undertone,  to  his  daughter ;  but  she  made  no  an- 
swer to  liis  words  or  his  smile.  But,  indeed,  even  if  Macleod  had 
overheard,  he  would  have  taken  no  shame  to  himself  that  he  had 


268  MACLEOD    OF    DAKE. 

secured  a  supply  of  \vliite  bread  for  liis  guests.  Those  who  had 
gone  yachting  with  Macleod — Major  Stuart,  for  example,  or  Nor- 
man Ogilvie — had  soon  learned  not  to  despise  their  host's  highly 
practical  acquaintance  with  tinned  meats,  pickles,  condensed  milk, 
and  such-like  things.  Who  was  it  had  proposed  to  erect  a  mon- 
ument to  him  for  his  discovery  of  the  effect  of  introducing  a  leaf 
of  lettuce  steeped  in  vinegar  between  the  folds  of  a  sandwich? 

Then  he  jumped  down  into  the  boat  again ;  and  the  great 
steamer  steamed  away ;  and  the  men  struck  their  oars  into  the 
water. 

"We  will  soon  take  you  ashore  now,"  said  he,  with  a  glad 
light  on  his  face;  but  so  excited  was  lie  that  he  could  scarcely 
get  the  tiller-ropes  right ;  and  certainly  lie  knew  not  what  he  Avas 
saying.  And  as  for  her — why  was  she  so  silent  after  the  long 
separation  ?  Had  she  no  word  at  all  for  the  lover  who  had  so 
hungered  for  her  coming? 

And  then  Donald,  perched  high  at  the  bow,  broke  away  into 
his  wild  welcome  of  her ;  and  there  was  a  sound  now  louder  than 
the  callino;  of  the  sea-birds  and  the  rushing  of  the  seas.  And  if 
the  English  lady  knew  that  tliis  proud  and  shrill  strain  had  been 
composed  in  honor  of  her,  would  it  not  bring  some  color  of  pleas- 
ure to  the  pale  face  ?  So  thought  Donald  at  least ;  and  he  had 
his  eyes  fixed  on  her  as  he  played  as  he  had  never  played  before 
that  day.  And  if  she  did  not  know  the  cunning  modulations 
and  the  clever  fingering,  Macleod  knew  them,  and  the  men  knew 
them ;  and  after  they  got  ash.ore  they  would  say  to  him, 

"  Donald,  tliat  was  a  good  pibroch  you  played  for  the  English 
lady." 

i5ut  wliat  was  the  English  lady's  thanks?  Donald  had  not 
played  over  sixty  seconds  when  she  turned  to  Macleod  and  said, 

"  Keith,  1  wish  you  would  stop  him.     I  have  a  headache." 

And  so  Macleod  called  out  at  once,  in  the  lad's  native  tongue. 
But  Donald  could  not  believe  this  thing,  though  he  liad  seen 
the  strange  lady  turn  to  Sir  Keith.  And  he  would  have  con- 
tinued had  not  one  of  the  men  turned  to  him  and  said, 

" Donald,  do  you  not  hear?     Put  down  the  pipes." 

For  an  instant  the  lad  looked  dumfounded ;  then  he  slowly 
took  down  the  pipes  from  his  shoulder  and  put  them  beside  hira, 
and  then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  bow  so  that  no  one  should 
see  the  tears  of  wounded  pride  (hat  had  sprung  to  his  eyes.     And 


iiAMisn.  .  2G9 

P'onalJ  said  no  word  io  any  one  till  they  got  ashore ;  and  he 
went  away  by  liimself  to  Castle  Dare,  with  his  head  bent  down 
and  his  pipes  under  his  arm ;  and  when  he  was  met  at  the  door 
by  Ilamish,  who  angrily  demanded  why  he  was  not  down  at  the 
quay  Avith  his  pipes,  he  only  said, 

"There  is  no  need  of  me  or  my  pipes  any  more  at  Dare;  and 
it  is  somewhere  else  that  I  will  now  go  with  my  pipes." 

But  meanwhile  Maeleod  was  greatly  concerned  to  find  his 
sweetheart  so  cold  and  distant ;  and  it  was  all  in  vain  that  he 
pointed  out  to  her  the  beauties  of  this  sum)ncr  day — that  he 
showed  her  the  various  islands  he  had  often  talked  about,  and 
called  her  attention  to  the  starts  sitting  on  the  Erisgeir  rocks, 
and  asked  her  —  seeing  that  she  sometimes  painted  a  little  in 
water-color — whether  she  noticed  the  peculiar  clear,  intense,  and 
luminous  blue  of  the  shadows  in  the  great  cliffs  which  they  were 
approaching.  Surely  no  day  could  have  been  more  auspicious 
for  her  coming  to  Dare? 

"The  sea  did  not  make  yon  ill?"  he  said. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered ;  and  that  was  true  enough,  though  it 
had  produced  in  her  agonizing  fears  of  becoming  ill  which  had 
somewhat  ruffled  her  temper.  And  besides,  she  had  a  headache. 
And  then  she  had  a  nervous  fear  of  small  boats. 

"  It  is  a  very  small  boat  to  be  out  in  the  open  sea,"  she  re- 
marked, looking  at  the  long  and  shapely  gig  that  was  cleaving 
the  summer  waves. 

"  Not  on  a  day  like  this,  surely,"  said  he,  laughing.  "  But  we 
will  make  a  good  sailor  of  you  before  you  leave  Dare,  and  you 
will  think  yourself  safer  in  a  boat  like  this  than  in  a  big  steamer. 
Do  you  know  that  the  steamer  you  came  in,  big  as  it  is,  draws 
only  five  feet  of  water  ?" 

If  he  had  told  her  that  the  steamer  drew  five  tons  of  coal  she 
could  just  as  well  have  understood  him.  Indeed,  she  was  not 
paying  much  attention  to  him.  She  had  an  eye  for  the  biggest 
of  the  waves  that  were  running  by  the  side  of  the  white  boat. 

But  she  plucked  up  her  spirits  somewhat  on  getting  ashore ,' 
and  she  made  the  prettiest  of  little  courtesies  to  Lady  Maeleod ; 
and  she  shook  hands  with  Major  Stuart,  and  gave  him  a  charm- 
ing smile ;  and  she  shook  hands  with  Janet,  too,  whom  she  re- 
garded with  a  quick  scrutiny.  So  this  was  the  cousin  that  Keith 
Maeleod  was  continually  praising? 


270  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

"  Miss  "Wliite  has  a  lioadaclie,  motlier,"  Maclcod  said,  eager  to 
account  beforehand  for  any  possible  constraint  in  licr  manner. 
"  Shall  we  send  for  the  pony  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  Miss  White  said,  looking  up  to  the  bare  walls  of 
Dare.  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  a  short  walk  now — unless 
you,  papa,  would  like  to  ride  ?" 

"Certainly  not — certainly  not,"  said, Mr.  AVhite,  who  had  been 
making  a  series  of  formal  remarks  to  Lady  Macleod  about  his 
impressions  of  the  scenery  of  Scotland. 

"  We  will  get  you  a  cup  of  tea,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  gently, 
to  the  new-comer,  "  and  you  will  lie  down  for  a  little  time,  and  I 
hope  the  sound  of  the  waterfall  will  not  disturb  you.  It  is  a  long 
way  you  have  come ;  and  you  will  be  very  tired,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pretty  long  way,"  she  said ;  but  she  wished  this 
over-friendly  woman  would  not  treat  her  as  if  she  were  a  spoiled 
child.  And  no  doubt  they  thought,  because  she  was  English,  she 
could  not  walk  up  to  the  farther  end  of  that  fir-wood? 

So  they  all  set  out  for  Castle  Dare ;  and  Macleod  was  now 
walking — as  manv  a  tinie  he  had  dreamed  of  his  walking — with 
his  beautiful  sweetheart ;  and  there  were  the  very  ferns  that  he 
thought  she  would  admire ;  and  here  the  very  point  in  the  fir- 
wood  where  he  would  stop  her  and  ask  her  to  look  out  on  the 
blue  sea,  with  Inch  Kenneth,  and  Ulva,  and  Staffa,  all  lying  in 
the  sunlight,  and  the  razor-fish  of  land — Coll  and  Tlrce — at  the 
horizon.  But  instead  of  being  proud  and  glad,rhe  was  almost 
afraid.  lie  was  so  anxious  that  everything  should  please  her 
that  he  dared  scarce  bid  her  look  at  anything.  He  had  himself 
superintended  the  mending  of  the  steep  path  ;  hut  even  now  the 
recent  rains  had  left  some  puddles.  Would  she  not  consider  the 
moist,  warm  odors  of  this  larch-wood  as  too  oppressive? 

"  What  is  that?"  she  said,  suddenly. 

There  was  a  sound  far  below  them  of  the  striking  of  oars  in 
the  water,  and  anotlicr  sound  of  one  or  two  men  monotonously 
chanting  a  rude  sort  of  chorus. 

"  They  are  taking  the  gig  on  to  the  yacht,"  said  he. 

"  But  what  are  they  singing  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  Fhi7-  a  bhata,^''  said  he ;  "  it  is  the  common  boat- 
song.  It  means.  Good-bye  to  you,  boatman,  a  hundred  times, 
wherever  you  may  be  going.'''' 

*'  It  is  very  striking,  very  effective,  to  hear  singing  and  not  see 


iiAMisir.  271 

the  people,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  very  prettiest  introduction  to 
a  scene;  I  wonder  it  is  not  oftener  used.  Do  you  think  they 
could  write  me  down  the  words  and  music  of  that  song?" 

"  Oh  no,  I  think  not,"  said  he,  with  a  nervous  hmgh.  "  But 
you  will  find  something  like  it,  no  doubt,  in  your  hook." 

So  they  passed  on  through  the  plantation  ;  and  at  last  they 
came  to  an  open  glade ;  and  here  was  a  deep  chasm  spanned  by 
a  curious  old  bridge  of  stone  almost  hidden  by  ivy  ;  and  there 
was  a  brawling  stream  dashing  down  over  the  rocks  and  fling- 
ing spray  all  over  the  briers,  and  queen  of  the  meadow,  and  fox- 
gloves on  either  bank. 

"  That  is  very  pretty,"  said  she ;  and  then  he  was  eager  to  tell 
her  that  this  little  glen  was  even  more  beautiful  when  the  rowan- 
trees  showed  their  rich  clusters  of  scarlet  berries. 

"Those  bushes  there,  you  mean,"  said  she.  "The  mountain- 
ash  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  never  see  those  scarlet  berries  without 
wishing  I  was  a  dark  woman.  If  my  hair  were  black,  I  would 
wear  nothing  else  in  it." 

By  this  time  they  had  climbed  well  up  the  cliff;  and  pres- 
ently they  came  on  the  open  plateau  on  which  stood  Castle  Dare, 
with  its  gaunt  walls  and  its  rambling  court-yards,  and  its  stretch 
of  damp  lawn  with  a  few  fuchsia-bushes  and  orange-lilies,  that 
did  Hot  give  a  very  ornamental  look  to  the  place. 

"  We  have  had  heavy  rains  of  late,"  he  said,  hastily  ;  he  hoped 
the  house  and  its  surroundings  did  not  look  too  dismal. 

And  when  they  went  inside  and  passed  through  the  sombre 
dining-hall,  with  its  huge  fireplace,  and  its  dark  weapons,  and  its 
few  portraits  dimly  visible  in  the  dusk,  he  said, 

'''It  is  very  gloomy  in  the  daytime ;  but  it  is  more  cheerful 
at  night." 

And  when  they  reached  the  small  drawing-room  he  was  anx- 
ious to  draw  her  attention  away  from  the  antiquated  furniture 
and  the  nondescript  decoration  by  taking  her  to  the  window  and 
showing  her  the  great  breadth  of  the  summer  sea,  with  the  far 
islands,  and  the  brown-sailed  boat  of  the  Gometra  men  comina: 
back  from  Staffa.  But  presently  in  came  Janet,  and  would  take 
the  fair  stranger  away  to  her  room  ;  and  was  as  attentive  to  her 
as  if  the  one  were  a  great  princess,  and  the  other  a  meek  serving- 


272  MACLEOD    OF    UAllE. 

woman.  And  by-and-by  Maclcod,  having  seen  bis  other  guest 
provided  for,  went  into  the  library  and  shut  himself  in,  and  sat 
down,  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  lie  could  almost  have  imagined  that 
the  whole  business  of  the  morning  was  a  dream  ;  so  strange  did 
it  seem  to  him  that  Gertrude  White  should  be  living  and  breatli- 
ing  under  the  same  roof  with  himself. 

Nature  herself  seemed  to  have  conspired  with  Macleod  to  wel- 
come and  charm  this  fair  guest.  He  had  often  spoken  to  her  of 
the  sunsets  that  shone  over  the  Western  seas ;  and  he  had  won- 
dered whether,  during  her  stay  in  the  North,  she  would  see  some 
strange  sight  that  would  remain  forever  a  blaze  of  color  in  her 
memory.  And  now  on  this  very  first  evening  there  was  a  spec- 
tacle seen  from  the  high  windows  of  Dare  that  filled  her  with 
astonisliment,  and  caused  her  to  send  quickly  for  her  father,  who 
was  burrowing  among  the  old  armor.  The  sun  had  just  gone 
down.  The  western  sky  was  of  the  color  of  a  soda-water  bottle 
become  glorified ;  and  in  this  vast  breadth  of  shining  clear  green 
lay  one  long  island  of  cloud — a  pure  scarlet.  Then  the  sky  over- 
head and  the  sea  far  below  them  were  both  of  a  soft  roseate  pur- 
ple ;  and  Fladda  and  Staffa  and  Lunga,  out  at  the  horizon,  were 
almost  black  against  that  flood  of  green  light.  When  he  asked 
her  if  she  had  brought  her  water- colors  with  her,  she  smiled. 
She  was  not  likely  to  attempt  to  put  anything  like  that  down  on 
paper. 

Then  they  adjourned  to  the  big  hall,  which  was  now  lit  up 
with  candles;  and  Major  Stuart  had  remained  to  dinner:  and  the 
gallant  soldier,  glad  to  have  a  merry  evening  away  from  his  sigh- 
ing wife,  did  his  best  to  promote  the  cheerfulness  of  the  party. 
Moreover,  Miss  White  had  got  rid  of  her  headache,  and  showed 
a  greater  brightness  of  face ;  so  that  both  the  old  lady  at  the 
head  of  the  table  and  her  niece  Janet  had  to  confess  to  them- 
selves that  this  English  girl  who  was  like  to  tear  Keith  Macleod 
away  from  them  was  very  pretty,  and  had  an  amiable  look,  and 
was  soft  and  fine  and  delicate  in  her  manners  and  speech.  The 
charming  simplicity  of  her  costume,  too :  had  anybody  ever  seen 
a  dress  more  bcautifnl  with  less  pretence  of  attracting  notice? 
Her  very  hands  —  they  seemed  objects  fitted  to  be  placed  on  a 
cushion  of  blue  velvet  under  a  glass  shade,  so  white  and  small 
and  perfectly  formed  were  they.  That  was  what  the  kindly- 
hearted  Janet  thought.     She  did  not  ask  herself  how  these  hands 


HAMISII.  273 

would  answer  if  called  upon  to  help  —  amidst  the  grime  and 
smoke  of  a  shepherd's  hut  —  the  shepherd's  wife  to  patch  to- 
gether a  pair  of  homespun  trousers  for  the  sailor-son  coming 
back  from  the  sea. 

''And  now,"  said  Keith  Macleod  to  his  fair  neighbor,  when 
Ilamish  had  put  the  claret  and  the  whiskey  on  the  table,  "  since 
your  head  is  well  now, would  you  like  to  hear  the  pipes?  It  is 
an  old  custom  of  the  house.  My  mother  would  think  it  strange 
to  have  it  omitted,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  voice. 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  a  custom  of  the  house,"  she  said,  coldly — for  she 
thouo'ht  it  was  inconsiderate  of  him  to  risk  brintjino-  back  her 
headache — "  I  have  no  objection  whatever." 

And  so  he  turned  to  Ilamish  and  said  something  in  the  Gaelic. 
Ilamish  replied  in  English,  and  loud  enough  for  Miss  White  to 
hear, 

"  It  is  no  pibroch  there  will  be  this  night,  for  Donald  is  away." 

"Away?" 

"  Ay,  just  that.  When  he  wass  come  back  from  the  boat,  he 
will  say  to  me, '  Ilamish,  it  is  no  more  of  mc  or  my  pipes  they 
want  at  Dare,  and  I  am  going  away ;  and  they  can  get  some  one 
else  to  play  the  pipes.'  And  I  wass  saying  to  him  then,  'Donald, 
do  not  be  a  foolish  lad ;  and  if  the  English  lady  will  not  want 
the  pibroch  you  made  for  her,  perhaps  at  another  time  she  will 
want  it'  And  now.  Sir  Keith,  it  is  Maggie  MacFarlane ;  she  wass 
coming  up  from  Loch-na-Keal  this  afternoon,  and  who  was  it  she 
will  meet  but  our  Donald,  and  he  wass  saying  to  her,  '  It  is  to 
Tobermory  now  that  I  am  going,  Maggie ;  and  I  will  try  to  get 
a  ship  there;  for  it  is  no  more  of  me  or  my  pipes  they  will  want 
at  Dare.' " 

This  was  Ilamish's  story ;  and  the  keen  hawk-like  eye  of  him 
was  fixed  on  the  English  lady's  face  all  the  time  he  spoke  in  his 
struii'iiling  and  haltinfj  fashion. 

"  Confound  the  young  rascal !"  Macleod  said,  with  his  face 
grown  red.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  send  a  messenger  to  To- 
bermory and  apologize  to  him  for  interrupting  him  to-day."  And 
then  he  turned  to  Miss  White.  "  They  are  like  a  set  of  children," 
he  said,  "  with  their  pride  and  petulance." 

This  is  all  that  needs  be  said  about  the  manner  of  Miss  White'ii 
coming  to  Dare,  besides  these  two  circumstances:  First  of  all, 
whether  it  was  that  Macleod  was  too  flurried,  and  Janet  too  busy, 

12* 


274  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

and  Lady  Maclcod  too  indifferent  to  attend  to  sncli  trifles,  the 
fact  remains  tliat  no  one,  on  Miss  AVliite's  entering  the  house, 
hail  t'ionglit  of  presenting  her  with  a  piece  of  white  heather, 
which,  as  every  one  knows,  gives  good  heahh  and  good  fortune 
and  a  long  life  to  your  friend.  Again,  Ilaniish  seemed  to  have 
ac'iuired  a  serious  prejudice  against  her  from  the  very  outset. 
That  night,  when  Castle  Dare  was  asleep,  and  the  old  dame  Chris- 
tina and  her  husband  were  seated  by  themselves  in  the  servants' 
rouu),  and  llamish  was  having  his  last  pipe,  and  both  were  talk- 
ing over  the  great  events  of  the  day,  Christina  said,  in  her  native 
tongue, 

"And  wliat  do  you  think  now  of  tlie  English  lady,  Hamish  ?" 

llamish  answered  witii  an  old  and  sinister  saving: 

''''A  fool  would  he  be  that  loould  bm-n  his  harp  to  xvarm  hery 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  GRAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD. 

The  monotonous  sound  of  the  Avater-fall,  so  far  from  disturb- 
ing the  new  guest  of  Castle  Dare,  only  soothed  her  to  rest ;  and 
after  the  various  fatigues,  if  not  the  emotions,  of  the  day,  she 
slept  well.  But  in  the  very  midst  of  the  night  slie  was  startled 
by  some  loud  commotion  that  seemed  to  prevail  both  Avithin  and 
without  the  house ;  and  when  she  was  fully  awakened  it  appear- 
ed to  her  that  the  whole  earth  was  being  shalcen  to  pieces  in  the 
storm.  The  wind  howled  in  the  chimneys;  the  rain  dashed  on 
the  window-panes  w ith  a  rattle  as  of  musketry ;  far  below  she 
could  hear  the  awful  booming  of  the  Atlantic  breakers.  The 
gusts  that  drove  against  the  high  house  sceined  ready  to  tear  it 
from  its  foothold  of  rock  and  wdiirl  it  inland ;  or  was  it  the  sea 
itself  that  was  rising  in  its  thunderous  power  to  sweep  away  this 
bauble  from  the  face  of  the  mighty  cliffs?  And  then  the  wild 
and  desolate  morning  that  followed !  Through  the  bewilder- 
ment  of  the  running  water  on  the  panes  she  looked  abroad  on 
the  tempest-riven  sea — a  slate-colored  Avaste  of  hurrying  waves 
with  wind-swept  streaks  of  foam  on  them — and  on  the  lowering 
and  ever-changing  clouds.  The  fuchsia-bushes  on  the  lawn  toss- 
ed and  bent  before  the  wind ;  the  few  orange-lilies,  wet  as  they 


A    ilAKK    SAYINO. 


THE  CRAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD.         275 

v.-ere,  LuvncJ  like  fire  in  tLis  world  of  cold  greens  and  grays. 
And  then,  as  !<lie  stood  and  gazed,  she  made  out  the  only  sign  of 
life  that  was  visible.  There  was  a  cornfield  below  the  larch-plan- 
tation ;  and  though  the  corn  was  all  laid  flat  by  the  wet  and  the 
wijid,  a  cow  and  her  calf  that  had  strayed  into  the  field  seemed 
to  have  no  diSiculty  in  finding  a  rich,  moist  breakfast.  Then  a 
small  girl  appeared,  vainly  trying  with  one  liand  to  keep  her  ker- 
chief on  lier  liead,  while  with  the  other  she  threw  stones  at  the 
marauders.  By-and-by  even  these  disappeared;  and  there  was 
nothing  visible  outside  but  that  hurrying  and  desolate  sea,  and 
the  wet,  bedraggled,  comfortless  shore.  She  turned  away  with  a 
shudder. 

All  that  day  Keith  Maclcod  was  in  despair.  As  for  himself, 
he  would  have  had  sufficient  joy  in  the  mere  consciousness  of  the 
presence  of  this  beautiful  creature.  His  eyes  followed  her  with 
a  constant  delight;  whether  she  took  up  a  book,  or  examined  the 
cunning  spring  of  a  sixteenth-century  dagger,  or  turned  to  the 
dripping  panes.  He  would  have  been  content  even  to  sit  and 
listen  to  Mr.  AYhite  sententiously  lecturing  Lady  Macleod  about 
the  Renaissance,  knowing  that  from  time  to  time  those  beautiful, 
tender  eyes  would  meet  his.  But  what  would  she  think  of  it? 
Would  she  consider  this  the  normal  condition  of  life  in  the 
Highlands — this  being  boxed  up  in  an  old-fashioned  room,  with 
doors  and  windows  firmly  closed  against  the  wind  and  the  wet, 
with  a  number  of  people  trying  to  keep  up  some  sort  of  social 
intercourse,  and  not  very  well  succeeding?  She  had  looked  at 
the  portraits  in  the  dining-hall — looming  darkly  from  their  black 
backgrounds,  though  two  or  three  were  in  resplendent  uniforms ; 
she  had  examined  all  his  trophies  of  the  chase — skins,  horns,  and 
what  not — in  the  outer  corridor;  she  had  opened  the  piano,  and 
almost  started  back  from  the  discords  produced  by  the  feebly 
jangling  old  keys. 

"You  do  not  cultivate  music  much,"  she  had  said  to  Janet 
Maclcod,  with  a  smile. 

"No,"  answered  Janet,  seriously.  ""We  have  but  little  use  for 
music  here — except  to  sing  to  a  child  now  and  again,  and  you 
know  you  do  not  want  the  piano  for  that." 

And  then  the  return  to  the  cold  window,  with  the  constant 
rain  and  the  beating  of  the  white  surge  on  the  black  rocks.  The 
imprisonment  became  torture — became  maddening.     What  if  he 


270  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

were  suddenly  to  murder  this  old  man  and  stop  forever  Lis  in- 
sufferable prosing  about  Berna  da  Siena  and  Andr.'a  Mantegna? 
It  seemed  so  strange  to  bear  bim  talk  of  tbe  uncartbly  calm  of 
llapbael's  "  St.  Micbael " — of  tbc  beautiful,  still  landscape  of  it, 
and  tbe  mysterious  joy  on  tbe  face  of  tbc  angel — and  to  listen 
at  tbc  same  moment  to  tbe  wild  roar  of  tbe  Atlantic  around  tbe 
rocks  of  Mull.  If  Macleod  bad  been  alone  witb  tbe  talker,  be 
iiiigbt  bave  gone  to  sleep.  It  was  like  tbe  tolling  of  a  bell. 
"Tbc  artist  passes  away, but  be  leaves  bis  soul  bcbiiid. .  .  .  We  can 
judge  by  bis  work  of  tbe  joy  be  must  bave  experienced  in  crea- 
tion, of  tbe  splendid  dreams  tbat  bave  visited  bim,  of  tbe  triumph 
of  completion.  . . .  Life  without  an  object — a  pursuit  demanding 
tbe  sacrifice  of  our  constant  care — what  is  it?  Tbe  existence  of 
a  pig  is  nobler — a  pig  is  of  some  use.  . .  .  We  are  independent  of 
weather  in  a  great  city ;  we  do  not  need  to  care  for  the  seasons ; 
you  take  a  hansom  and  drive  to  tbe  National  Gallery,  and  there 
all  at  once  you  find  yourself  in  tbe  soft  Italian  climate,  with  tbe 
most  beautiful  women  and  o-reat  heroes  of  cbivalrv  all  around 
you,  and  with  those  quaint  and  loving  presentations  of  sacred 
stories  that  tell  of  a  time  when  art  was  proud  to  be  tbe  meek 
handmaid  of  religion.  Ob,  my  dear  Lady  Macleod,  there  is  a 
'Holy  Family'  of  Giotto's—" 

So  it  went  on ;  and  Macleod  orcw  sick  at  heart  to  think  of  the 
impression  that  this  funereal  day  must  have  liad  on  tbe  mind  of 
bis  fair  stranger.  But  as  they  sat  at  dinner  tbat  evening,  Hamish 
came  in  and  said  a  few  words  to  his  master.  Instantly  Macleod's 
face  lighted  up,  and  quite  a  new  animation  came  into  bis  manner. 

"Do  you  know  what  Hamish  says?"  be  cried — "that  tbe  night 
is  quite  fine !  And  Hamish  has  beard  our  talking  of  seeing  tbe 
cathedral  at  lona  by  moonlight,  and  he  says  the  moon  will  be  up 
by  ten.  And  what  do  you  say  to  running  over  now  ?  You  know 
we  cannot  take  you  in  tbe  yacht,  for  tliere  is  no  good  anchorage 
at  lona ;  but  we  can  take  you  in  a  very  good  and  safe  boat ;  and 
it  will  be  an  adventure  to  go  out  in  tbe  night-time." 

It  was  an  adventure  that  neither  Mr.  White  nor  bis  daughter 
seemed  too  eager  to  undertake ;  but  the  urgent  vehemence  of  tbe 
young  man  —  who  had  discovered  that  it  was  a  fine  and  clear 
starlit  night — soon  overcame  their  doubts ;  and  there  was  a  gen- 
eral hurry  of  preparation.  Tbe  desolation  of  the  day,  he  eagerly 
thought,  would  be  forgotten  in  tbe  romance  of  this  night  excur- 


THE  GRAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD.         277 

sion.  Ami  surely  she  would  be  cliavmed  by  the  beauty  of  the 
starlit  sky,  and  the  lonelhicss  of  tlic  voyage,  and  their  wandering 
over  the  ruins  in  the  solemn  moonlight? 

Thick  boots  and  water-proofs  —  these  were  his  peremptory  in- 
structions. And  then  he  led  the  way  down  the  slippery  path, 
and  he  had  a  tight  hold  of  her  arm ;  and  if  he  talked  to  lier  in  a 
low  voice  so  that  none  should  overhear,  it  is  the  way  of  lovers 
under  the  silence  of  the  stars.  They  reached  the  pier,  and  the 
wet  stone  steps ;  and  here,  despite  the  stars,  it  was  so  dark  that 
perforce  she  had  to  permit  hiin  to  lift  her  ofi  the  lowest  step  and 
place  her  in  security  in  what  seemed  to  her  a  great  hole  of  some 
kind  or  other.  She  knew,  liowevcr,  that  she  was  in  a  boat,  for 
there  was  a  swaying  hither  and  thither  even  in  this  sheltered  cor- 
ner. She  saw  other  figures  arrive  —  black  between  her  and  the 
sky — and  she  heard  her  father's  voice  above.  Then  be,  too,  got 
into  the  boat ;  the  two  men  forwai'd  hauled  up  the  huge  lug-sail ; 
and  presently  there  was  a  rippling  line  of  sparkling  white  stars 
on  each  side  of  the  boat,  burning  for  a  second  or  two  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  black  water. 

"  I  don't  know  who  is  responsible  for  this  madness,"  Mr. 
White  said — and  the  voice  from  inside  the  great  water-proof  coat 
sounded  as  if  it  meant  to  be  jocular — "  but  realh',  Gcrty,  to  be  on 
the  open  Atlantic  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  an  open  boat — " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  Macleod  said,  laughing,  "  you  are  as  safe  as  if 
you  were  in  bed.  But  I  am  responsible  in  the  mean  time,  for  I 
have  the  tiller.  Oh,  we  shall  be  over  in  plenty  of  time  to  be  clear 
of  the  banks." 

"  What  did  yon  say  ?" 

"Well,"  Macleod  admitted,  "there  are  some  banks,  you  know, 
in  the  Sound  of  lona ;  and  on  a  dark  night  they  are  a  little  awk- 
ward when  the  tide  is  low;  but  I  am  not  going  to  frighten 
you—" 

"  I  hope  we  shall  have  nothing  much  worse  than  this,"  said 
Mr.  White,  seriously. 

For,  indeed,  the  sea,  after  the  squally  morning,  was  running 
pretty  high ;  and  occasionally  a  cloud  of  spray  came  rattling  o\er 
the  bows,  causing  Macleod's  guests  to  pull  their  water-proofs  still 
more  tightly  round  their  necks.  But  what  mattered  the  creak- 
ing of  the  cordage,  and  the  plunging  of  the  boat,  and  the  rushing 
of  the  seas,  so  long  as  that  beautiful  clear  sky  shone  overhead  ? 


278  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  Gertrude,"  said  be,  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you  sec  the  phospLor- 
ous-stars  on  the  waves  ?     I  never  saw  tlicni  burn  more  brigbtly." 

"  Tliev  arc  very  beautiful,"  said  she.  "  When  do  ^vc  get  to 
land,  Keith  ?" 

"  Oh,  pretty  soon,"  said  he.     "  You  are  not  anxious  to  ^et  to 
land  ?" 
-  "  It  is  stormier  than  I  expected." 

"  Oh,  this  is  nothing,"  said  li£.  "  I  thought  you  would  en- 
joy it." 

Ilowcver,  that  summer  night's  sail  was  like  to  prove  a  tougher 
business  than  Keith  Macleod  had  bargained  for.  They  had  been 
out  scarcely  twenty  minutes  when  Miss  White  heard  the  man  at 
the  bow  call  out  something,  which  she  could  not  understand,  to 
Macleod.  She  saw  him  crane  his  neck  forward,  as  if  looking 
ahead ;  and  she  herself,  looking  in  that  direction,  could  perceive 
that  from  the  horizon  almost  to  the  zenith  the  stars  had  become 
invisible. 

"  It  may  be  a  little  bit  squally,"  he  said  to  her,  "  but  we  shall 
soon  be  under  the  lee  of  lona.  Perhaps  you  had  better  hold  on 
to  something." 

The  advice  was  not  ill-timed ;  for  almost  as  he  spoke  the  first 
gust  of  the  squall  struck  the  boat,  and  there  was  a  sound  as  if 
everything  had  been  torn  asunder  and  sent  overboard.  Then,  as 
she  righted  just  in  time  to  meet  the  crash  of  the  next  wave,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  world  had  grown  perfectly  black  around 
them.  The  terrified  woman  seated  there  could  no  longer  make 
out  Macleod's  figure ;  it  was  impossible  to  speak  amidst  this 
roar;  it  almost  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  alone  with  those 
howling  winds  and  heaving  waves — at  night  on  the  open  sea. 
The  wind  rose,  and  the  sea  too ;  she  heard  the  men  call  out  and 
Macleod  answer;  and  all  the  time  the  boat  was  creaking  and 
groaning  as  she  was  flung  high  on  the  mighty  waves  only  to  go 
staggering  down  into  the  awful  troughs  behind. 

"  Oh,  Keith  1"  she  cried — and  involuntarily  she  seized  his  arm 
— "  are  we  in  danger  ?" 

He  could  not  hear  what  she  said ;  but  he  understood  the  mute 
appeal.  Quickly  disengaging  his  arm — for  it  was  the  arm  that 
was  working  the  tiller — he  called  to  her, 

"  We  are  all  right.  If  you  are  afraid,  get  to  the  bottom  of 
the  boat." 


THE  GUAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD.         279 

But  unhappily  she  did  not  hear  this;  for,  as  he  called  to  her, 
a  heavy  sea  stiuck  the  bows,  sprung'  hii:!;h  in  the  air,  and  then  fell 
over  them  in  a  deluge  whieli  nearly  choked  her.  She  understood, 
though,  his  throwing  away  her  hand.  It  was  the  triuinpli  of 
brute  selfishness  in  tlie  moment  of  danger.  They  were  drown- 
ing, and  he  would  not  let  her  come  near  liim  !  And  so  she 
shrieked  aloud  for  her  father. 

Ilearing  those  shrieks,  Macleod  called  to  one  of  the  two  men, 
who  came  stumbling  along  in  the  dark  and  got  hold  of  the  tiller. 
There  was  a  slight  lull  in  the  storm,  and  ho  caught  her  two  hands 
and  held  her. 

" Gertrude,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are  perfectly  safe,  and 
so  is  your  father.  For  Heaven's  sake,  keep  still !  if  you  get  up, 
you  will  be  knocked  overboard !" 

"  "Where  is  papa  ?"  she  cried. 

"  I  am  here — I  am  all  right,  Gerty  !"  was  the  answer — which 
came  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  into  which  Mr.  "White  had 
very  prudently  slipped. 

And  then,  as  they  got  under  the  lee  of  the  island,  they  found 
themselves  in  smoother  water,  though  from  time  to  time  squalls 
came  over  that  threatened  to  flatten  the  great  lug-sail  right  on  to 
the  waves. 

"Come  now, Gertrude,"  said  Macleod,  "  v.^e  shall  be  ashore  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  you  are  not  frightened  of  a  squall  ?" 

He  liad  his  arm  round  her,  and  he  held  her  tight ;  but  slie  did 
not  answer.  At  last  she  saw  a  light  —  a  small,  glimmering  or- 
ange thing  that  quivered  apparently  a  hundred  miles  off, 

"  See !"  he  said,  "  We  are  close  by.  And  it  may  clear  up 
to-night,  after  all." 

Then  he  shouted  to  one  of  the  men : 

"  Sandy,  we  will  not  try  the  quay  the  night :  we  will  go  into 
the  Martyr's  Bay." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir!" 

It  was  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward  that — almost  be- 
numbed with  fear — she  discovered  that  the  boat  was  in  smooth 
water ;  and  then  there  was  a  loud  clatter  of  the  sail  coming 
down  ;  and  she  heard  the  two  sailors  calling  to  each  other,  and 
one  of  them  seemed  to  have  got  overboard.  There  was  absolute- 
ly nothing  visible — not  even  a  distant  light;  but  it  was  raining 
heavily.     Then  she  knew  that  Macleod  had  moved  away  from 


280  >^rACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

lier ;  and  slic  thouglit  she  lieard  a  splash  in  the  water ;  and  then 
:i  voice  beside  her  said, 

"Gertrude,  will  you  get  up?  You  must  let  me  carry  you 
ashore." 

And  she  found  herself  in  his  arms  —  carried  as  lightly  as 
though  she  had  been  a  young  lamb  or  a  fawn  from  the  hills ; 
but  she  knew  from  the  slow  way  of  his  walking  that  he  was  go- 
ing through  the  sea.     Then  he  set  her  on  the  shore. 

"  Take  my  hand,"  said  he. 

"But  where  is  papa?" 

"Just  behind  us,"  said  he,  "  on  Sandy's  shoulders.  Sandy  will 
bring  him  along.     Come,  darling  !" 

"But  where  are  we  going?" 

"  There  is  a  little  inn  near  the  Cathedral.  And  perhaps  it 
will  clear  up  to-night ;  and  we  will  have  a  fine  sail  back  again  to 
Dare." 

She  shuddered.  Not  for  ten  thousand  worlds  would  she  pass 
through  once  more  that  seething  pit  of  howling  sounds  and  rag' 
ing  seas. 

He  held  her  arm  firmly;  and  she  stumbled  along  through  the 
darkness,  not  knowing  whether  she  was  walking  through  sea- 
weed,  or  pools  of  water,  or  wet  corn.  And  at  last  they  came  to 
a  door ;  and  the  door  was  opened ;  and  there  Avas  a  blaze  of 
orange  light ;  and  they  entered — all  dripping  and  unrecognizable 
— the  warm,  snug  little  place,  to  the  astonishment  of  a  handsome 
young  lady  who  proved  to  be  their  hostess. 

"Dear  me.  Sir  Keith,"  said  she  at  length,  "is  it  you  indeed! 
And  you  will  not  be  going  back  to  Dare  to-night?" 

In  fact,  when  Mr.  White  arrived,  it  was  soon  made  evident  that 
going  back  to  Dare  that  night  was  out  of  the  question ;  for 
somehow  or  other  the  old  gentleman,  despite  his  water-proofs, 
had  managed  to  get  soaked  through ;  and  he  was  determined  to 
go  to  bed  at  once,  so  as  to  have  his  clothes  dried.  And  so  the 
hospitalities  of  the  little  inn  were  requisitioned  to  the  utmost; 
and  as  there  was  no  whiskey  to  be  had,  they  had  to  content 
themselves  with  hot  tea ;  and  then  they  all  retired  to  rest  for  the 
niffht,  convinced  that  tlie  moonlight  visitation  of  the  ruins  had 
to  be  postponed. 

But  next  day — such  are  the  rapid  changes  in  the  Highlands — ■ 
broke  blue  and  fair  and  shining ;  and  Miss  Gertrude  White  was 


THE  GRAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD.         2Sl 

amazed  to  find  tliut  the  awful  Sound  she  liad  come  along  en  the 
previous  night  was  now  brilliant  in  the  most  beautiful  colors — 
for  the  tide  was  low,  and  the  yellow  sand-banks  were  shining 
through  the  blue  waters  of  the  sea.  And  would  she  not,  seeing 
that  the  boat  was  lying  down  at  the  quay  now,  sail  round  the 
island,  and  see  the  splendid  sight  of  the  Atlantic  breaking  on  the 
wild  coast  on  the  western  side  ?  She  hesitated  ;  and  then,  when 
It  was  suggested  that  she  might  walk  across  the  island,  she  cagei-- 
ly  accepted  that  alternative.  They  set  out,  on  this  hot,  bright, 
beautiful  dav. 

But  where  he,  eager  to  please  her  and  show  the  beauties  of  the 
Highlands,  saw  lovely  white  sands,  and  smiling  plains  of  verdure, 
and  far  views  of  tiie  sunny  sea,  she  only  saw  loneliness,  and  deso- 
lation, and  a  constant  threatening  of  death  from  the  fierce  At- 
lantic. Could  anything  have  been  more  beautiful,  he  said  to 
himself,  than  this  magnificent  scene  that  lay  all  around  her  when 
they  reached  a  far  point  on  the  western  shore? — in  face  of  them 
the  wildly  rushing  seas,  coming  thundering  on  to  the  rocks,  and 
springing  so  high  into  the  air  that  the  snow-white  foam  showed 
black  against  the  glare  of  the  sky  ;  the  nearer  islands  gleaming 
with  a  touch  of  brown  on  their  sunward  side ;  the  Dutchman's 
Cap,  with  its  long  brim  and  conical  centre,  and  Lunga,  also  like  a 
cap,  but  with  a  shorter  brim  and  a  high  peak  in  front,  becoming 
a  trifle  blue;  then  Coll  and  Tiree  lying  like  a  pale  stripe  on  the 
horizon ;  while  far  away  in  the  north  the  mountains  of  Rum  and 
Skye  were  faint  and  spectral  in  the  haze  of  the  sunlight.  Then 
the  wild  coast  around  them  ;  with  its  splendid  masses  of  granite  ; 
and  its  spare  grass  a  brown-green  in  the  warm  sun ;  and  its  bays 
of  silver  sand  ;  and  its  sea-birds  whiter  than  the  white  clouds  that 
came  sailing  over  the  blue.  She  recognized  only  the  awfulncss 
and  the  loneliness  of  that  wild  shore ;  Avith  its  suggestions  of 
crashing  storms  in  the  night-time,  and  the  cries  of  drowning  men 
dashed  helplessly  on  the  cruel  rocks.  She  was  very  silent  all  the 
way  back,  though  he  told  her  stories  of  the  fairies  that  used  to 
inhabit  those  sandy  and  grassy  plains. 

And  could  anything  have  been  more  maQ;ical  than  the  beautv 
of  that  evening,  after  the  storm  had  altogether  died  away  ?  The 
red  sunset  sank  behind  the  dark  olive-green  of  the  hills;  a  pale, 
clear  twilight  took  its  place,  and  shone  over  those  mystic  niins 
that  were  the  object  of  many  a  thought  and  many  a  pilgrimago 


282  MACLEOD    OF    DARE, 

in  the  h\v  past  nnd  forgotten  years;  and  then  the  stars  began  to 
glimiiier  as  the  distant  shores  and  the  sea  grew  dark;  and  then, 
still  later  on,  a  wonderful  radiance  rose  behind  the  low  hills  of 
Mull,  and  across  the  waters  of  the  Sound  came  a  belt  of  quivering 
light  as  the  white  moon  sailed  slowly  up  into  the  sky.  "Would 
thev  venture  out  now  into  the  silence  ?  There  was  an  odor  of 
new-mown  hay  in  the  night  air.  Far  away  they  could  hear  the 
murmuring  of  the  waves  around  the  rocks.  They  did  not  speak 
a  word  as  they  walked  along  to  those  solemn  ruins  overlooking 
the  sea,  that  were  now  a  mass  of  mysterious  shadow,  except 
where  the  eastern  walls  and  the  tower  were  touched  by  the  sil- 
very light  that  liad  just  come  into  the  heavens. 

And  in  silence  they  entered  the  still  church -yard,  too,  and 
passed  the  graves.  The  buildings  seemed  to  rise  above  them  in 
a  darkened  majesty ;  before  them  was  a  portal  through  which  a 
glimpse  of  the  moonlit  sky  was  visible.     Would  they  enter  then? 

"  I  am  almost  afraid,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  to  her  compan- 
ion, and  the  hand  on  his  arm  trembled. 

But  no  sooner  had  she  spoken  than  there  was  a  sudden  sound 
in  the  night  that  caused  her  heart  to  jump.  All  over  them  and 
around  them,  as  it  seemed,  there  was  a  wild  uproar  of  wings ; 
and  the  clear  sky  above  them  was  darkened  by  a  cloud  of  objects 
wheeling  this  way  and  that,  until  at  length  they  swept  by  over- 
head as  if  blown  bv  a  whirlwind,  and  crossed  the  clear  moon- 
light  in  a  dense  body.     She  had  quickly  clung  to  him  in  her  fear. 

"  It  is  only  the  jackdaws — there  are  hundreds  of  them,"  he 
said  to  her ;  but  even  his  voice  sounded  strange  in  this  hollow 
building. 

For  they  had  now  entered  by  the  open  door-way;  and  all 
around  them  were  the  tall  and  crumbling  pillars,  and  the  arched 
windows,  and  ruined  walls,  here  and  there  catching  the  sharp 
light  of  the  moonlight,  here  and  there  showing  soft  and  gray  with 
a  reflected  light,  with  spaces  of  black  shadow  which  led  to  un- 
known recesses.  And  always  overhead  the  clear  sky  with  its 
pale  stars ;  and  always,  far  away,  the  melancholy  sound  of  the 
sea. 

"Do  you  know  where  you  are  standing  now?"  said  he,  almost 
sadly.     "  You  arc  standing  on  the  grave  of  Maclcod  of  Macleod." 

She  started  aside  with  a  slight  exclamation. 

"I  do  not  think  they  bury  any  one   in  here   now,"  said  he, 


THE  GRAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD.         283 

genii}'.  And  then  lie  added,  "  Do  you  know  tliat  I  have  chosen 
the  place  fur  my  grave  ?  It  is  away  out  at  one  of  the  Treshnish 
islands;  it  is  a  bav  looking'  to  the  west;  there  is  no  one  livino; 
on  that  island.  It  is  only  a  fancy  of  mine — to  rest  for  ever  and 
ever  Avitli  no  sound  around  ni  but  the  sea  and  the  Avinds — no 
step  coming  near  you,  and  no  voice  but  the  waves." 

"  Oh,  Keith,  you  should  not  say  such  things  :  you  frighten  me  !" 
she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

Another  voice  broke  in  upon  them,  harsli  and  pragmatical. 

"Do  you  know,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mr.  White,  briskly,  "that  the 
moonlight  is  clear  enough  to  let  you  make  out  this  plan  ?  But 
I  can't  get  the  building  to  correspond.  This  is  the  chancel,  I 
believe;  but  where  are  the  cloisters?" 

"  I  will  show  you,"  Macleod  said ;  and  lie  led  Lis  companion 
through  the  silent  and  solemn  place,  her  father  following.  In 
the  darkness  they  passed  through  an  archway,  and  were  about  to 
step  out  on  to  a  piece  of  grass,  when  suddenly  Miss  "White  uttered 
a  wild  scream  of  terror  and  sank  lielplcssly  to  the  ground.  She 
had  slipped  from  his  arm,  but  in  an  instant  he  liad  caught  her 
again  and  had  raised  her  on  his  bended  knee,  and  was  calling  to 
her  with  kindly  words. 

"  Gertrude,  Gertrude  !"  lie  said.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  Won't 
you  speak  to  me  ?" 

And  just  as  she  was  pulling  herself  together  the  innocent  cause 
of  this  commotion  was  discovered.  It  was  a  black  lamb  that 
had  come  up  in  the  most  friendly  manner,  and  had  rnbbed  its 
head  against  her  hand  to  attract  her  notice. 

"Gertrude,  see!  it  is  only  a  lamb!  It  comes  up  to  nie  every 
time  I  visit  the  ruins ;  look  !" 

And,  indeed,  she  was  mightily  ashamed  of  herself;  and  pre- 
tended to  be  vastly  interested  in  the  ruins;  and  was  quite 
charmed  with  the  view  of  the  Sound  in  the  moonlight,  with  the 
low  hills  beyond,  now  grown  quite  black;  but  all  the  same  she 
was  very  silent  as  they  walked  back  to  the  inn.  And  she  was 
pale  and  thoughtful,  too,  while  they  were  having  their  frugal 
supper  of  bread-and-inilk ;  and  very  soon,  pleading  fatigue,  she 
retired.  But  all  the  same,  when  Mr.  Yv'hite  went  up-stairs,  some 
time  after,  he  had  been  but  a  short  while  in  his  room  when  he 
heard  a  tapping  at  the  door.  He  said,  "  Come  in,"  and  his 
daughter  entered.     lie  was  surprised  by  the  curious  look  of  her 


284  MAcr.EOiJ  OF  dare. 

face — :i  suit  of  pitL-ous  look,  as  of  one  ill  at  case,  and  yet  ashamed 
to  speak. 

"What  is  it,  child?"  said  he. 

Slie  regarded  him  for  a  second  with  that  piteous  look ;  and 
then  tears  slowly  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  in  a  sort  of  half-hysterical  way,  "I  want  you 
to  take  me  awav  from  here.  It  frightens  me.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is.     He  was  talking  to  me  ahout  graves — " 

And  here  she  burst  out  crying,  and  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  child  !"  her  father  said  ;  "  your  nervous  system 
must  have  been  shaken  last  nirjht  bv  that  storm.  I  have  seen  a 
strange  look  about  your  face  all  day.  It  was  certainly  a  mistake 
our  coming  here ;  you  are  not  fitted  for  this  savage  life." 

She  grew  more  composed.  She  sat  down  for  a  few  minutes ; 
and  her  father,  taking  out  a  small  flask  which  had  been  filled 
from  a  bottle  of  brandy  sent  over  during  the  day  from  Castle 
Dare,  poured  out  a  little  of  the  spirits,  added  some  water,  and 
made  her  driuk  the  dose  as  a  sleeping-draught. 

"Ah  well,  you  know,  pappy,"  said  she,  as  she  rose  to  leave,  and 
she  bestowed  a  very  pretty  smile  on  him,  "  it  is  all  in  the  way  of 
experience,  isn't  it?  and  an  artist  should  experience  everything. 
But  there  is  just  a  little  too  much  about  graves  and  ghosts  in 
these  parts  for  me.  And  I  suppose  we  shall  go  to-morrow  to  see 
some  cave  or  other  where  two  or  three  hundred  men,  women,  and 
children  were  murdered !" 

"I  hope  in  going  back  we  shall  not  be  as  near  our  own  grave 
as  we  were  last  night,"  her  father  observed. 

"And  Keith  Macleod  laughs  at  it,"  she  said,  "and  says  it  was 
unfortunate  we  o-ot  a  wettino; !" 

And  so  she  went  to  bed ;  and  the  sea-air  had  dealt  well  with 
her;  and  she  had  no  dreams  at  all  of  shipwrecks,  or  of  black 
familiars  in  moonlit  shrines.  AVhv  should  her  sleep  be  disturbed 
because  that  night  she  had  pi.t  her  root  on  the  grave  of  the  chief 
of  tlie  Maclcods  ? 


THE    UMPIKE.  285 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    UiMPIRE. 

Next  mornino;,  witli  all  this  wonderful  world  of  sea  and  islands 
shining  in  the  early  sunlight,  Mr.  White  and  his  daughter  were 
down  by  the  sliorc,  walking  along  the  white  sands,  and  chatting 
idly  as  they  went.  From  time  to  time  they  looked  across  the 
fair  summer  seas  to  the  distant  cliffs  of  Bourg;  and  each  time 
they  looked  a  certain  small  white  speck  seemed  coming  nearer. 
That  was  the  Umpire ;  and  Keith  Macleod  was  on  board  of  her. 
He  had  started  at  an  unknown  hour  of  the  night  to  bring  the 
yacht  over  from  her  anchorage.  He  would  not  have  his  beauti- 
ful Fionaghal,  who  had  come  as  a  stranger  to  these  far  lands,  go 
back  to  Dare  in  a  common  open  boat  with  stones  for  ballast. 

"This  is  the  loneliest  place  I  have  ever  seen,"  Miss  Gertrude 
White  was  saying  on  this  the  third  morning  after  lier  arrival. 
"It  seems  scarcely  in  the  world  at  all.  The  sea  cuts  you  off 
from  everything  you  know  ;  it  would  have  been  nothing  if  we 
had  come  by  rail." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  the  blue  waves  beside  them  curling 
a  crisp  white  on  the  smooth  sands. 

"Pappy,"  said  she,  at  length,  "  I  suppose  if  I  lived  here  for  six 
months  no  one  in  England  would  remember  anything  about  me? 
If  I  were  mentioned  at  all,  they  would  think  I  was  dead.  Per- 
haps some  day  I  might  meet  some  one  from  England ;  and  I 
would  have  to  say,  'Don't  you  know  who  I  am?  Did  you  never 
hear  of  one  called  Gertrude  White  ?     I  was  Gertrude  White.'  " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  her  father,  cautiously. 

"And  when  Mr,  Lemuel's  portrait  of  me  appears  in  the  Acad- 
emy, people  would  be  saying,  'Who  is  that?  Miss  Gertrude 
White,  as  Juliet  ?  Ah,  there  was  an  actress  of  that  name.  Or 
was  slie  an  amateur?  She  married  somebody  in  the  Highlands. 
I  suppose  she  is  dead  now  ?'  " 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  gratifying  instances,  Gerty,  of  the  posi- 
tion you  have  made,"  her  father  observed,  in  liis  slow  and  sonten- 


2SG  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

tious  way,  "that  Mr.  Lemuel  should  bo  willing,  after  having  re- 
fused to  exhibit  at  the  Academy  for  so  many  years,  to  make  an 
exception  in  the  case  of  your  portrait." 

"  Well,  I  hope  my  face  will  not  get  burned  by  the  sca-r.ir  and 
the  sun,"  she  said.  "  You  know  ho  wants  two  or  three  more  sit- 
tings. And  do  you  know,  pappy,  I  have  sometimes  thought  of 
asking  you  to  toll  me  honestly — not  to  encourage  me  with  flat- 
tery, you  know  —  whether  my  face  has  really  that  high-strung 
pitch  of  expression  when  I  am  about  to  drink  the  poison  in  the 
cell.     Do  I  really  look  like  Mr.  Lemuel's  portrait  of  me?" 

"It  is  your  very  self,  Gerty,"  her  father  said,  with  decision. 
"But  then  Mr.  Lemuel  is  a  man  of  genius.  Who  but  himself 
could  have  caught  the  very  soul  of  your  acting  and  fixed  it  on 
canvas  ?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  there  was  a  flnsli  of 
genuine  enthusiastic  pride  mantling  on  her  forehead  as  she  said, 
frankly, 

"  Well,  then,  I  wish  I  could  see  myself!" 

Mr.  White  said  nothing.  lie  had  watched  this  daughter  of  his 
through  the  long  winter  months.  Occasionally,  when  lie  heard 
her  utter  sentiments  such  as  these — and  when  he  saw  her  keen- 
ly sensitive  to  the  flattery  bestowed  upon  her  by  the  people  as- 
sembled at  Mr.  Lemuel's  little  gatherings,  he  had  asked  himself 
whether  it  was  possible  she  could  ever  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod. 
But  he  was  too  wise  to  risk  reawakening  her  rebellious  fits  bv 
any  encouragement.  In  any  case,  he  had  some  experience  of 
this  young  lady ;  and  what  was  the  use  of  combating  one  of  her 
moods  at  five  o'clock,  when  at  six  o'clock  she  would  be  arguing 
in  the  contrary  direction,  and  at  seven  convinced  that  the  via 
media  was  the  straight  road?  Moreover,  if  the  Avorst  came  to 
the  worst,  there  would  be  some  compensation  in  the  fact  of  Miss 
AVhite  changing  her  name  for  that  of  Lady  Macleod. 

Just  as  quickly  she  changed  her  mood  on  the  present  occasion. 
She  was  looking  again  far  over  the  darkly  blue  and  ruffled  seas 
toward  the  white-sailed  yacht. 

"  He  must  have  gone  away  in  the  dark  to  get  that  boat  for 
us,"  said  she,  musingly.  "  Poor  fellow,  how  very  generous  and 
kind  he  is  !  Som.etimes — shall  I  make  the  confession,  pappv  ? — 
I  wish  he  had  picked  out  some  one  who  could  better  have  re- 
turned his  warmth  of  feelino-." 


THE    UMPIKE.  -28  i 

She  called  it  a  confession  ;  but  it  was  a  question.  And  her 
father  answered  uiorc  bluntly  than  she  had  quite  expected. 

"  I  am  not  much  of  an  authority  on  such  points,"  said  he,  with  a 
dry  smile  ;  "  but  I  should  have  said,  Gerty,  that  you  have  not  been 
quite  so  effusive  toward  Sir  Keith  Macleod  as  some  young  ladies 
would  have  been  on  meeting  their  sweetheart  after  a  long  absence." 

The  pale  face  flushed,  and  she  answered,  hastily, 

"But  you  know,  papa,  when  you  are  knocked  about  from  one 
boat  to  another,  and  expecting  to  be  ill  one  minute  and  drowned 
the  next,  you  don't  have  your  temper  improved,  do  you?  And 
then  perhaps  you  have  been  expecting  a  little  too  much  romance? 
— and  vou  find  vour  Highland  chieftain  handing  down  loaves, 
with  all  the  people  in  the  steamer  staring  at  him.  But  I  really 
mean  to  make  it  up  to  him,  papa,  if  I  could  only  get  settled  down 
for  a  day  or  two  and  get  into  my  own  ways.  Oh  dear  jne ! — this 
sun — it  is  too  awfully  dreadful !  When  I  appear  before  Mr.  Lem- 
uel again,  I  shall  be  a  mulatto  !" 

And  as  they  walked  along  the  shining  sands,  with  the  waves 
monotonously  breaking,  the  white-sailed  yacht  came  nearer  and 
more  near ;  and,  indeed,  the  old  Umjjire,  broad-beamed  and  heavy 
as  she  was,  looked  quite  stately  and  swan-like  as  she  came  over 
the  blue  water.  And  they  saw  the  gig  lowered ;  and  the  four 
oars  keeping  rhythmical  time;  and  presently  they  could  make 
out  the  browned  and  glad  face  of  Macleod. 

'^  Why  did  you  take  so  much  trouble  V  said  she  to  him — nnd 
she  took  his  hand  in  a  very  kind  Avay  as  he  stepped  on  shore. 
"  We  could  very  well  have  gone  back  in  the  boat." 

"  Oh,  but  I  want  to  take  you  round  by  Loch  Tua,"  said  lie, 
looking  with  great  gratitude  into  those  friendly  eyes.  "And  it 
was  no  trouble  at  all.     And  will  you  step  into  the  gig  now?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  guided  her  along  the  rocks  until  she 
reached  the  boat ;  and  he  assisted  her  father  too.  Then  they 
pushed  off,  and  it  was  with  a  good  swing  the  men  sent  the  boat 
through  the  lapping  waves.  And  here  was  Hamish  standing  by 
the  gangway  to  receive  them ;  and  he  was  gravely  respectful  to 
the  stranger  lady,  as  he  assisted  her  to  get  up  the  small  wooden 
steps ;  but  there  was  no  light  of  welcome  in  the  keen  gray  eyes. 
He  quickly  turned  away  from  her  to  give  his  orders ;  for  Ham- 
ish was  on  this  occasion  skipper,  and  had  donned  a  smart  suit  of 
blue  with  brass  buttons.     Perhaps  he  would  have  been  prouder 


26S  MACLEUU    UF    DAUE. 

of  his  buttons,  and  of  Iiiniscif,  and  of  the  yacht  lie  had  sailed  for 
so  many  years,  if  it  liad  been  any  other  than  Gertrude  White 
who  had  now  stepped  on  board. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  Miss  AVhite  was  quite  charmed  with 
this  shapely  vessel  and  all  its  contents.  If  the  frugal  ways  and 
commonplace  duties  and  conversation  of  Castle  Dare  had  some- 
what disappointed  her,  and  liad  seemed  to  her  not  quite  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  heroic  traditions  of  the  clans,  here,  at  least,  was 
somcthino;  which  she  could  recognize  as  bcnttinij  her  notion  of 
the  name  and  position  of  Sir  Keith  Maclcod.  Surely  it  must  be 
with  a  certain  masterful  sense  of  possession  that  he  would  stand 
on  those  white  decks,  independent  of  all  the  world  besides,  with 
those  sinewy,  sun-browned,  handsome  fellows  ready  to  go  any- 
where with  hira  at  his  bidding?  It  is  true  that  Macleod,  in  show- 
ing her  over  the  yacht,  seemed  to  know  far  too  much  about  tin- 
ned meats ;  and  he  exhibited  with  some  pride  a  cunning  device 
for  the  stowage  of  soda-water:  and  he  even  went  the  length  of 
explaining  to  her  the  capacities  of  the  linen-chest ;  but  then  she 
could  not  fail  to  see  that,  in  his  eagerness  to  interest  and  amuse 
her,  he  was  as  garrulous  as  a  school-boy  showing  to  his  compan- 
ion a  new  toy.  Miss  White  sat  down  in  the  saloon ;  and  Mac- 
leod, who  had  but  little  experience  in  attending  on  ladies,  and 
knew  of  but  one  thing  that  it  was  proper  to  recommend,  said, 

"And  will  you  have  a  cup  of  tea  now,  Gertrude  ?  Johnny  will 
get  it  to  you  in  a  moment." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  she,  with  a  smile;  for  she  knew  not 
how  often  he  had  offered  her  a  cup  of  tea  since  her  arrival  in  the 
Highlands.  "  But  do  you  know,  Keith,  your  yacht  has  a  terrible 
bachelor  look  about  it?  All  the  comforts  of  it  are  in  this  saloon 
and  in  those  two  nice  little  state-rooms.  Your  lady's  cabin  looks 
very  empty ;  it  is  too  elegant  and  fine,  as  if  you  were  afraid  to 
leave  a  book  or  a  match-box  in  it.  Now,  if  you  were  to  turn  this 
into  a  lady's  yacht,  you  would  have  to  remove  that  pipe-rack,  and 
the  guns  and  rifles  and  bags." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  anxiously,  "  I  hope  you  do  not  smell  any  to- 
bacco ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  she.  "  It  was  only  a  fancy.  Of  course  you 
are  not  likely  to  turn  your  yacht  into  a  lady's  yacht." 

He  started  and  looked  at  her.  But  she  had  spoken  quite 
thoucrlitlesslv,  and  had  now  turned  to  her  father. 


THE    UMPIRE.  28i) 

"When  they  went  on  deck  again  they  found  that  the  Umpire, 
beating  up  iu  the  face  of  a  light  northerly  breeze,  had  run  out  for 
a  long  tack  almost  to  the  Dutchman's  Cap ;  and  from  a  certain 
distance  they  could  see  the  grim  shores  of  this  desolate  island, 
with  its  faint  tinge  of  green  grass  over  the  brown  of  its  plateau 
of  rock.  And  then  Uauiish  called  out,  "Ready,  about!"  and  pres- 
ently they  were  slowly  leaving  behind  that  lonely  Dutchman  and 
making  away  for  the  distant  entrance  to  Loch  Tua.  The  breeze 
was  slight ;  they  made  but  little  way  ;  far  on  the  blue  waters 
they  watched  the  white  gulls  sitting  buoyant ;  and  the  sun  was 
hot  on  their  hands.  What  did  they  talk  about  in  this  summer 
idleness?  Many  a  time  he  had  dreamed  of  his  thus  sailing  over 
the  clear  seas  with  the  fair  Fionaghal  from  the  South,  until  at 
times  his  heart,  grown  sick  with  yearning,  was  ready  to  despair 
of  the  impossible.  And  yet  here  she  was  sitting  on  a  deck-stool 
near  him — the  wide-apart,  long-lashed  eyes  occasionally  regarding 
him — a  neglected  book  open  on  her  lap — the  small  gloved  hands 
toying  with  the  cover.  Yet  there  was  no  word  of  love  spoken. 
There  was  only  a  friendly  conversation,  and  the  idle  passing  of  a 
summer  day.  It  was  something  to  know  that  her  breathing  was 
near  him. 

Then  the  breeze  died  away  altogether,  and  they  were  left  alto- 
gether motionless  on  the  glassy  blue  sea.  The  great  sails  hung 
limp,  without  a  single  flap  or  quiver  in  them ;  the  red  ensign 
clung  to  the  jigger-mast ;  Hamish,  though  he  stood  by  the  tiller, 
did  not  even  put  his  hand  on  that  bold  and  notable  representa- 
tion in  wood  of  the  sea-serpent. 

"  Come  now,  Hamish,"  Macleod  said,  fearing  this  monotonous 
idleness  would  weary  his  fair  guest,  "you  will  tell  us  now  one  of 
the  old  stories  that  you  used  to  tell  me  when  I  was  a  boy," 

Hamish  had,  indeed,  told  the  young  Macleod  many  a  mysterious 
tale  of  magic  and  adventure,  but  he  was  not  disposed  to  repeat 
any  one  of  these  in  broken  English  in  order  to  please  this  lady 
from  the  South. 

"  It  is  no  more  of  the  stories  I  hef  now.  Sir  Keith,"  said  he. 
"  It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  the  stories." 

"  Oh,  I  could  construct  one  myself,"  said  Miss  White,  lightly. 
"  Don't  I  know  how  they  all  begin  ?  '  There  was  once  a  Icing  in 
Erin,  and  he  had  a  son  ;  and  this  son  it  ivas  loho  would  take  the 
world  for  his  pilloio.     But  before  he  set  out  on  his  travels,  he  took 

13 


290  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

counsel  of  the  falcon,  and  the  hoodie,  unci  the  otter.  And  the  fal- 
con said  to  him,  go  to  the  right ;  and  the  hoodie  said  to  him,  you. 
ivill  be  wise  now  if  you  go  to  the  left ;  hut  the  otter  said  to  him. 
now  take  my  advice,''  etc.,  etc." 

"  You  have  been  a  diligent  student,"  Macleod  said,  latigliinir 
])eartily.  "And,  indeed,  you  might  go  on  with  the  story  and 
iinish  it;  for  who  knows  now  when  we  shall  get  back  to  Dare?" 
It  Avas  after  a  long  period  of  thus  lying  in  dead  cahn — with 
the  occasional  appearance  of  a  diver  on  the  surface  of  the  shining 
blue  sea — that  Maclcod's  sharply  observant  eye  was  attracted  by 
an  odd  thing  that  appeared  far  away  at  the  horizon. 

"What  do  vou  think  is  that  now?"  said  he,  with  a  smile. 
They  looked  steadfastly,  and  saw  only  a  thin   line  of  silver 
liglit,  almost  like  the  back  of  a  knife,  in  the  distant  dark  blue. 

"The  track  of  a  seal  swimming  under  water,"  Mr.  White  sug- 
gested. 

"  Or  a  shoal  of  fish,"  his  daughter  said. 
"  Watch  !" 

The  sharp  line  of  light  slowly  spread ;  a  trembling  silver-gray 
took  the  place  of  the  dark  blue;  it  looked  as  if  invisible  fingers 
■were  rushing  out  and  over  the  glassy  surface.  Then  they  felt  a 
cool  freshness  in  the  hot  air ;  the  red  ensign  swayed  a  bit ;  tlicn 
the  great  main-sail  flapped  idly;  and  finally  the  breeze  camo 
gently  blowing  over  the  sea,  and  on  again  they  went  througli  the 
ROW  rippling  water.  And  as  the  slow  time  passed  in  the  glare 
of  the  sunlight,  Staffa  lay  on  the  still  water  a  dense  mass  of 
shadow ;  and  they  went  by  Lunga ;  and  they  drew  near  to  the 
point  of  Gometra,  where  the  black  skarts  were  sitting  on  the 
exposed  rocks.  It  was  like  a  dream  of  sunlight,  and  fair  colors, 
and  summei** quiet. 

"  I  cannot  believe,"  said  she  to  him,  "  that  all  those  fierce  mur- 
ders and  revenges  took  place  in  such  beautiful  scenes  as  these. 
How  could  they  ?" 

And  then,  in  the  broad  and  still  Avaters  of  Loch  Tua,  with  the 
lonely  rocks  of  Ulva  close  by  them,  they  were  again  becalmed ; 
and  now  it  was  decided  that  they  should  leave  the  yacht  tliere 
at  certain  moorings,  and  should  get  into  the  gig  and  be  pulled 
through  the  shallow  channel  between  Ulva  and  Mull  that  connects 
Loch  Tua  with  Loch-na-Keal.  Macleod  had  been  greatly  favored 
by  the  day  chosen  at  hap-hazard  for  this  water  promenade  :  at  the 


THE    UMl'lRK.  291 

end  of  it  lie  was  n-Iaddcned  to  hear  Miss  Wliite  say  tliat  she  had 
uever  seen  anything  so  lovely  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

And  yet  it  was  merely  a  question  of  weather.  To-morrow 
they  might  come  back  and  find  the  water  a  ruffled  leaden  color; 
the  waves  washing  over  the  rocks;  Ben  More  invisible  behind 
drivincf  clouds.  But  now,  as  those  three  sat  in  the  stern  of  the 
gig,  and  were  gently  pulled  along  by  the  sweep  of  the  oars,  it 
seemed  to  one  at  least  of  them  that  she  must  have  got  into  fairy- 
land. The  rocky  shores  of  Ulva  lay  on  one  side  of  this  broad 
and  windinir  channel,  the  flatter  shores  of  Mull  on  the  other,  and 
between  lay  a  perfect  mirror  of  water,  in  which  everything  was 
so  accurately  reflected  that  it  was  quite  impossible  to  define  the 
line  at  which  the  water  and  the  land  met.  In  fact,  so  vivid  was 
the  reflection  of  the  blue  and  white  sky  on  the  surface  of  the 
water  that  it  appeared  to  her  as  if  the  boat  was  suspended  in 
mid-air — a  sky  below,  a  sky  above.  And  then  the  beauty  of  the 
landscape  that  enclosed  this  wonderful  mirror — the  soft  green 
foliage  above  the  Ulva  rocks;  the  brilliant  yellow-brown  of  the 
sea-weed,  with  here  and  there  a  gray  heron  standing  solitary  and 
silent  as  a  ghost  over  the  pools ;  ahead  of  them,  towering  above 
this  flat  and  shining  and  beautiful  landscape,  the  awful  majesty 
of  the  mountains  around  Locli-na-Keal — the  monarch  of  them, 
Ben  More,  showing  a  cone  of  dark  and  thunderous  purple  under 
a  long  and  heavy  swathe  of  cloud.  Far  away,  too,  on  their  right, 
stretched  the  splendid  rampart  of  the  Gribun  cliffs,  a  soft  sunlight 
on  the  grassy  greens  of  their  summits;  a  pale  and  brilliant  blue 
in  the  shadows  of  the  huge  and  yawning  caves.  And  so  still  it 
was,  and  the  air  so  fine  and  sweet :  it  was  a  day  for  the  idling  of 
happy  lovers. 

AVhat  jarred,  then  ?  Not  the  silent  appearance  of  tlie  head 
of  a  seal  in  that  shining  plain  of  blue  and  white ;  for  the  poor 
old  fellow  only  regarded  the  boat  for  a  second  or  two  with  his 
large  and  pathetic  eyes,  and  then  quietly  disappeared.  Perhaps 
it  was  this — that  Miss  White  was  leaning  over  the  side  of  the 
boat,  and  admiring  very  much  the  wonderful  hues  of  groups  of 
sea-weed  below,  that  were  all  distinctly  visible  in  the  marvellously 
clear  water.  There  were  beautiful  green  plants  that  spread  tlieir 
liat  fingers  over  the  silver-white  sands ;  and  huge  rolls  of  purple 
and  sombre  brown ;  and  long  strings  that  came  up  to  the  surface 
— the  traceries  and  decorations  of  these  haunts  of  the  mermaid. 


292  MACLEOD    OF    PAKE. 

"  It  is  like  a  pantomime,"  she  said.  "  You  would  expect  to 
see  a  burst  of  lime-ligbt,  and  Neptune  appearing  with  a  silver 
trident  and  crown.  Well,  it  only  shows  that  the  scene-painters 
are  nearer  nature  than  most  people  imagine.  I  should  never  liave 
thought  th.ere  was  anything  so  beautiful  in  the  sea." 

And  then  again  she  said,  when  they  had  rounded  Ulva,  and 
got  a  glimpse  of  the  open  Atlantic  again, 

"  Where  is  it,  Keith,  you  proposed  to  sink  all  the  theatres  in 
England  for  the  benefit  of  the  dolphins  and  the  lobsters?" 

He  did  not  like  these  references  to  the  theatre. 

"  It  was  only  a  piece  of  nonsense,"  said  he,  abruptl}'. 

But  then  she  begged  him  so  prettily  to  get  tlie  men  to  sing 
the  boat-song,  that  he  good-huinoredly  took  out  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  a  pencil,  and  said  to  her, 

"  If  I  write  it  down  for  you,  I  must  write  it  as  it  is  pronounced. 
For  how  would  you  know  that  Fhir  a  hhata,  na  horo  eile,  is  pro- 
nounced Feer  a  vakla  na  horo  aUya?'''' 

"And  perhaps,  then,"  said  she,  with  a  charming  smile, "  writ- 
ing it  down  would  spoil  it  altogether  ?  But  you  will  ask  them 
to  sing  it  for  me." 

He  said  a  word  or  two  in  the  Gaelic  to  Sandy,  who  Avas  roAv- 
ing  stroke  ;  and  Sandy  answered  with  a  short,  quick  laugh  of 
assent. 

"  I  have  asked  them  if  they  would  drink  your  health,"  Mac- 
leod  said,  "  and  they  have  not  refused.  It  would  be  a  great  com- 
pliment to  them  if  you  would  fill  out  the  whiskey  yourself;  here 
is  my  flask." 

She  took  that  formidable  vessel  in  her  small  hands,  and  the 
men  rested  on  their  oars;  and  then  the  metal  cup  Avas  passed 
along.  Whether  it  was  the  dram,  or  Avhether  it  was  the  old  fa- 
miliar chorus  they  struck  up — 

"  Fhir  a  bhata  (na  horo  eile) 
Fhir  a  bhata  (na  horo  eile) 
Fhir  a  bhata  (na  horo  eile) 
Chead  soire  slann  leid  ge  thobh  a  theid  u," 

certain  it  is  that  the  boat  swung  forward  with  a  new  strength, 
and  ere  long  they  beheld  in  the  distance  the  walls  of  Castle  Dare. 
And  here  was  Janet  at  the  small  quay,  greatly  distressed  because 
of  the  discomfort  to  which  Miss  White  must  have  been  subjected. 


A    CAVE    IN    MULL,  293 

"  But  I  have  just  been  telling  Sir  Keith,"  she  said,  with  a  sweet 
sinile,  "  that  I  have  come  through  the  most  beautiful  place  I  have 
ever  seen  in  the  world." 

This  was  not,  however,  what  she  was  saying  to  herself  when 
she  reached  the  privacy  of  her  own  room.  Her  thoughts  took  a 
dilfei-ent  turn. 

"And  if  it  does  seem  impossible" — this  Avas  her  inward  speech 
to  herself — "that  those  wild  murders  should  have  been  com- 
mitted in  so  beautiful  a  place,  at  least  there  will  be  a  fair  chance 
of  one  occurring  when  I  tell  him  that  I  have  signed  an  engage- 
ment that  will  last  till  Christmas.  But  what  good  could  come 
of  being  in  a  hurry  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A    CAVE    IN    MULL. 


Of  love  not  a  single  word  had  so  far  been  said  between  these 
two.  It  was  a  high  sense  of  courtesy  that  on  his  part  had  driven 
liim  to  exercise  this  severe  self-restraint;  he  would  not  invite  her 
to  be  his  guest,  and  then  take  advantage  of  the  various  opportu- 
nities offered  to  plague  her  with  the  vehemence  and  passionate 
vearning  of  his  heart.  For  during  all  those  long  winter  months 
he  had  gradually  learned,  from  the  correspondence  which  he  so 
carefully  studied,  that  she  rather  disliked  protestation  ;  and  when 
he  hinted  that  he  thought  her  letters  to  him  were  somewhat  cold, 
she  only  answered  with  a  playful  humor;  and  when  he  tried  to 
press  her  to  some  declaration  about  her  leaving  the  stage  or  about 
the  time  of  their  marriage,  she  evaded  the  point  with  an  extreme 
cleverness  which  was  so  good-natured  and  friendly  that  he  could 
scarcely  complain.  Occasionally  there  were  references  in  these 
letters  that  awakened  in  his  breast  a  tumult  of  jealous  suspicions 
and  fears;  but  then  again  he  consoled  himself  by  looking  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  she  should  be  released  from  all  those  en- 
vironments that  he  hated  and  dreaded.  He  would  have  no  more 
fear  when  he  could  take  her  hand  and  look  into  her  eyes. 

And  now  that  Miss  Gertrude  White  was  actually  in  Castle 
Dare — now  that  he  could  walk  with  her  along  the  lonely  moun- 
tain-slopes and  show  her  the  wonders  of  the  Western  seas  and  the 


294  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

islands  —  what  was  it  that  still  occasioned  that  vague  unrest? 
His  nervous  anxiety  that  she  should  be  pleased  with  all  she  saw  ? 
or  a  certain  critical  coldness  in  her  glance  ?  or  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  only  entertaining  a  passing  visitor — a  beautiful  bird 
that  had  alighted  on  his  hand,  and  that  the  next  moment  would 
be  winging  its  flight  away  into  the  silvery  South  ? 

"You  are  becoming  u  capital  sailor,"  he  said  to  hor  one  day, 
with  a  proud  light  on  his  face.  "  You  have  no  fear  at  all  of  the 
sea  now." 

He  and  she  and  the  cousin  Janet — Mr.  White  had  some  letters 
to  answer,  and  had  stayed  at  home — were  in  the  stern  of  the  gig, 
and  they  w'ere  being  rowed  along  the  coast  below  the  giant  cliffs 
of  Gribun.  Certainly  if  Miss  White  had  confessed  to  being  a 
little  nervous,  she  might  have  been  excused.  It  was  a  beautiful, 
fresh,  breezy,  summer  day ;  but  the  heavy  Atlantic  swell,  that 
slowly  raised  and  lowered  the  boat  as  the  men  rowed  along, 
passed  gently  and  smoothly  on,  and  then  went  booming  and  roar- 
ing and  crashing  over  the  sharp  black  rocks  that  were  quite  close 
at  hand. 

"  I  think  I  would  soon  get  over  my  fear  of  the  sea,"  she  said, 
gently. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  that  that  was  most  likely  to  impress  her  on 
this  bright  day — it  was  the  awful  loneliness  and  desolation  of  the 
scene  around  her.  All  along  the  summit  of  the  great  cliffs  lay 
heavy  banks  of  cloud  that  moved  and  wreathed  themselves  to- 
gether, with  mysterious  patches  of  darkness  here  and  there  that 
suggested  the  entrance  into  far  valleys  in  the  unseen  mountains 
behind.  And  if  the  outer  surface  of  these  precipitous  cliffs  was 
brightened  by  sunlight,  and  if  there  was  a  sprinkling  of  grass  on 
the  ledges,  every  few  minutes  they  passed  the  yawning  archway 
of  a  huge  cavern,  around  which  the  sea  was  roaring  with  a  muffled 
and  thunderous  noise.  He  thought  she  would  be  interested  in 
the  extraordinary  number  and  variety  of  the  sea-birds  about — the 
solemn  cormorants  sitting  on  the  ledges,  the  rock-pigeons  shoot- 
ing out  from  the  caves,  the  sca-pyots  whirring  along  the  rocks 
like  lightning-flashes  of  color,  the  lordly  osprev,  with  his  great 
wings  outstretched  and  motionless,  sailing  slowly  in  the  far  blue 
overhead.  And  no  doubt  she  looked  at  all  these  things  with  a 
forced  interest;  and  she  herself  now  could  name  the  distant  isl- 
ands out  in  the  tossing  Atlantic ;  and  she  had  in  a  great  measure 


A    CAVE    IN    MULL.  295 

got  accustomed  to  the  ampliibious  life  at  Dare.  Eut  as  she  lis- 
tened to  the  boomiiiy  of  the  waves  around  those  awful  recesses; 
and  as  she  saw  tlie  jagged  and  angry  rocks  suddenly  appear 
through  the  liquid  mass  of  the  falling  sea;  and  as  she  looked 
abroad  on  the  unknown  distances  of  that  troubled  ocean,  and 
thought  of  the  life  on  those  remote  and  lonely  islands,  the  spirit 
of  a  summer  holiday  forsook  her  altogether,  and  slie  was  silent. 

"And  you  will  have  no  fear  of  the  beast  wlicn  you  go  into 
Mackinnou's  cave,"  said  Janet  Macleod  to  her,  ^vith  a  friendly 
smile,  "  because  no  one  has  ever  licard  of  it  again.  Do  you  know, 
it  was  a  strange  thing?  They  saw  in  the  sand  the  footprint  of 
an  animal  that  is  not  known  to  any  one  about  here;  even  Kcilli 
himself  did  not  know  what  it  was — " 

"  I  think  it  was  a  wild-cat,"  said  he. 

"And  the  men  they  had  nothing  to  do  tlicn ;  and  they  went 
all  about  the  caves,  but  they  could  sec  nothing  of  it.  And  it  has 
never  come  back  again." 

"And  I  suppose  you  arc  not  anxious  for  its  coming  back?" 
Miss  White  said. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  be  very  lucky  and  sec  it  some  day,  and  I 
know  that  Keith  would  like  to  shoot  it,  whatever  it  is." 

"  That  is  very  likely,"  Miss  White  said,  without  any  apparent 
sarcasm. 

By-and-by  they  paused  opposite  tlie  entrance  to  a  cave  that 
seemed  even  larger  and  blacker  than  the  others ;  and  then  Miss 
W^hite  discovered  that  tliey  were  considering  at  what  point  they 
could  most  easily  effect  a  landing.  Already  through  the  singu- 
larly clear  water  she  could  make  out  vague  green  masses  that  told 
of  the  presence  of  huge  blocks  of  yellow  rock  far  below  them ; 
and  as  they  cautiously  went  farther  toward  the  shore,  a  man  at 
the  bow  calling  out  to  them,  these  blocks  of  rock  became  clearer 
and  clearer,  until  it  seemed  as  if  those  glassy  billows  that  glided 
under  the  boat,  and  then  went  crashing  in  white  foam  a  few  yards 
beyond,  must  inevitably  transfix  the  frail  craft  on  one  of  these 
jagged  points.  But  at  length  they  managed  to  run  the  bow  of 
the  gig  into  a  sosnewhat  sheltered  place,  and  two  of  the  men, 
jumping  knee-deep  into  the  water,  hauled  the  keel  still  farther 
over  the  grating  shell-fish  of  the  rock ;  and  then  Macleod,  scram- 
bling out,  assisted  Miss  White  to  land. 

"  Do  you  not  come  w  ith  us  ?"  Miss  White  called  back  to  the  boat. 


293  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  Oil,  it  is  many  a  time  I  have  been  in  tlie  cave,"  said  Janet 
Macleod ;  "and  I  will  Lave  the  luncheon  ready  for  you.  And 
you  will  not  stay  long  iu  the  cave,  for  it  is  cold  and  damp." 

He  took  her  hand,  for  the  scrambling  over  the  rough  rocks  and 
stones  was  dangerous  work  for  unfamiliar  ankles.  They  drew 
nearer  to  this  awful  thing,  that  rose  far  above  them,  and  seemed 
waiting  to  enclose  them  and  shut  them  in  forever.  And  whereas 
about  the  other  caves  there  were  plenty  of  birds  flying,  with  their 
shrill  screams  denoting  their  terror  or  resentment,  there  was  no 
sign  of  life  at  all  about  this  black  and  yawning  chasm,  and  there 
was  an  absolute  silence,  but  for  the  rolling  of  the  breakers  behind 
them  that  only  produced  vague  and  wandering  echoes.  As  she 
advanced  over  the  treacherous  shingle,  she  became  conscious  of 
a  sort  of  twilight  appearing  around  her.  A  vast  black  thing — 
black  as  night  and  still  as  the  grave — was  ahead  of  her ;  but  al- 
ready the  change  from  the  blaze  of  sunlight  outside  to  this  par- 
tial darkness  seemed  strange  on  the  eyes.  The  air  grew  colder. 
As  she  looked  up  at  the  tremendous  walls,  and  at  the  mysterious 
blackness  beyond,  she  grasped  his  hand  more  tightly,  though  the 
walking  on  the  wet  sand  was  now  comparatively  easy.  And  as 
they  went  farther  and  farther  into  tliis  blackness,  there  was  only 
a  faint,  strange  light  that  made  an  outline  of  the  back  of  his  fiir- 
ure,  leaving  his  face  in  darkness ;  and  when  he  stooped  to  exam- 
ine the  sand,  she  turned  and  looked  back,  and  behold  the  vast 
portal  by  which  they  entered  had  now  dwindled  down  into  a 
small  space  of  bewildering  white. 

"No,"  said  he,  and  she  was  startled  by  the  liollow  tones  of  his 
voice ;  "  I  cannot  find  any  traces  of  the  beast  now ;  they  have  all 
gone." 

Then  he  produced  a  candle  and  lit  it ;  and  as  they  advanced 
farther  into  the  blaclcncss,  there  was  visible  this  solitarv  star  of 
red  fire,  that  threw  dull,  mysterious  gleams  from  time  to  time  on 
some  projecting  rocks. 

"  You  must  give  me  your  hand  again,  Keith,"  said  she,  in  a  low 
voice ;  and  when  he  shifted  the  candle,  and  took  her  hand  in  his, 
he  found  that  it  was  trembling  somewhat. 

"  Will  you  go  any  farther?"  said  lie. 

"  No." 

They  stood  and  looked  around.  The  darkness  seemed  without 
limits ;  the  rod  light  was  insufficient  to  produce  anything  like 


A    CAVE    IN    ML'I>L.  29T 

an  outline  of  this  immense  place,  even  in  faint  and  wandering 
gleams. 

"If  anything  were  to  move,  Keith,"  said  she,  "I  shonld  die." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !"  said  he,  in  a  cheerful  way ;  but  the  hollow 
echoes  of  the  cavern  made  his  voice  sound  sepulchral.  "  There 
is  no  beast  at  all  in  here,  you  may  be  sure.  And  I  have  often 
thought  of  tlie  friu'ht  a  wild-cat  or  a  beaver  mav  have  ixot  when 
he  came  in  here  in  the  night,  and  then  discovered  he  had  stum- 
bled on  a  lot  of  sleeping  men — " 

"Of  men!" 

"  They  say  this  was  a  sanctuary  of  the  Culdees ;  and  I  often 
wonder  how  the  old  chaps  got  their  food.  I  am  afraid  they 
must  have  often  fallen  back  on  the  young  cormorants:  that  is 
what  Major  Stuart  calls  an  expeditious  way  of  dining — for  you 
eat  two  courses,  fish  and  meat,  at  the  same  time.  And  if  you  go 
farther  along,  Gertrude,  you  will  come  to  the  great  altar -stone 
they  used." 

"  I  would  rather  not  go,"  said  she.  "  I — I  do  not  like  this 
place.     I  think  we  will  go  back  now,  Keith." 

As  they  cautiously  made  their  way  back  to  the  glare  of  the  en- 
trance, she  still  held  his  hand  tight ;  and  she  did  not  speak  at 
all.  Their  footsteps  echoed  strangely  in  this  hollow  space.  And 
then  the  air  grew  suddenly  warm ;  and  there  was  a  glow  of  day- 
light around ;  and  although  her  eyes  were  rather  bewildered,  she 
breathed  more  freely,  and  there  was  an  air  of  relief  on  her  face, 

"  I  think  I  will  sit  down  for  a  moment,  Keith,"  said  she ;  and 
then  he  noticed,  with  a  sudden  alarm,  that  her  cheeks  were  rather 
pale. 

"Are  you  ill?"  said  he,  with  a  quick  anxiety  in  his  eyes. 
"  Were  you  frightened  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !"  said  she,  with  a  forced  cheerfulness,  and  she  sat 
down  for  a  moment  on  one  of  the  smooth  bowlders.  "  You 
must  not  think  I  am  such  a  coward  as  that.  But — the  chilling 
atmosphere — the  change — made  me  a  little  faint." 

"Shall  I  run  down  to  the  boat  for  some  wine  for  you?  I 
know  that  Janet  has  brought  some  claret." 

"Oh,  not  at  all!"  said  she — and  he  saw  with  a  great  delight 
that  her  color  was  returning.  "I  am  quite  well  now.  But  I 
will  rest  for  a  minute,  if  you  are  in  no  hurry,  before  scrambling 
down  tliose  stones  again." 

13* 


298  MACLKOD    OF    DAUE, 

He  was  in  no  hurry;  on  the  contrary,  he  sat  down  beside  lier 
and  took  lier  hand. 

"  Y'ou  know,  Gerty,"  said  he,  "  it  will  be  some  time  before  I 
can  learn  all  tliat  you  like  and  dislike,  and  what  you  can  bear, 
and  what  pleases  you  best;  it  Avill  be  some  time,  no  doubt;  but 
then,  when  I  have  learned,  you  will  find  that  no  one  will  look 
after  you  so  carefully  as  I  will." 

"  I  know  you  are  very  kind  to  nie,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  very  gently,  and  even  timidly,  but  his  firm 
hand  held  her  languid  one  with  something  of  a  more  nervous 
clasp,  "  if  you  would  only  tell  me,  Gerty,  that  on  such  and  such 
a  day  you  would  leave  the  stage  altogetlier,  and  on  such  and  such 
a  day  you  would  let  me  come  to  London — and  you  know  the 
rest — then  I  would  go  to  my  mother,  and  there  would  be  no  need 
of  any  more  secrecy,  and  instead  of  her  treating  you  merely  as  a 
guest  she  would  look  on  you  as  lier  daughter,  and  you  might  talk 
with  her  frankly." 

She  did  not  at  all  withdraw  the  small  gloved  hand,  with  its 
fringe  of  fur  at  the  end  of  the  narrow  sleeve.  On  the  contrary, 
as  it  lay  there  in  his  warm  grasp,  it  was  like  the  small,  white, 
furred  foot  of  a  ptarmigan,  so  little  and  soft  and  gentle  was  it, 

"Well,  you  know,  Keith,"  she  said,  with  a  great  kindness  in 
the  clear  eyes,  though  they  were  cast  down,  "  I  think  the  secret 
between  you  and  me  should  be  known  to  nobody  at  all  but  our- 
selves— any  more  than  we  can  reasonably  help.  And  it  is  a  very 
great  step  to  take ;  and  you  must  not  expect  me  to  be  in  a  hurrv, 
for  no  good  ever  came  of  that,  I  did  not  think  you  would  have 
cared  so  much — I  mean,  a  man  has  so  many  distractions  and  oc- 
cupations of  shooting,  and  going  away  in  your  yacht,  and  all  that 
— I  fancy — I  am  a  little  surprised — that  you  make  so  much  of 
it.  We  have  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet,  Keith ;  we  don't  know 
each  other  very  well.  By-and-by  we  may  be  quite  sure  that  there 
is  no  danger;  that  we  understand  each  other;  that  nothing  and 
nobody  is  likely  to  interfere.  But  wouldn't  you  prefer  to  be  left 
in  the  mean  time  just  a  little  bit  free  —  not  quite  pledged,  you 
know,  to  such  a  serious  thing — " 

lie  had  been  listening  to  these  faltering  phrases  in  a  kind  of 
dazed  and  pained  stupor.  It  was  like  the  water  overwhelming  a 
drowning  man.  But  at  last  he  cried  out — and  he  grasped  both 
her  hands  in  the  sudden  vehemence  of  the  moment — 


A    CAVE    IN    MULL.  299 

"  Gcrty,  you  are  not  drawing  bade !  You  do  not  dcspaii-  of 
our  being  husband  and  wife  !     What  is  it  tliat  you  mean  ?" 

"  Oh,  Keith  !"  said  she,  quickly  withdrawing  one  of  her  hands, 
"you  frighten  ine  when  you  talk  like  tliat!  You  do  not  know 
what  you  are  doing — you  liave  hurt  my  wrist !" 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not !"  said  he.  "  Have  I  hurt  your  hand,  Gerty  ? 
— and  I  would  cut  off  one  of  mine  to  save  you  a  scratch !  But 
you  will  tell  me  now  that  you  have  no  fears  —  that  you  don't 
want  to  draw  back  1  I  would  like  to  take  you  back  to  Dare,  and 
be  able  to  say  to  every  one,  'Do  you  know  that  this  is  my  wife 
— that  by-and-by  she  is  coming  to  Dare — and  you  will  all  be 
kind  to  her  for  her  own  sake  and  for  mine.'  And  if  there  is  any- 
thing wrong,  Gerty — if  there  is  anything  you  would  like  altered, 
I  would  liave  it  altered.  We  have  a  rude  way  of  life ;  but  every 
one  would  be  kind  to  you.  And  if  the  life  here  is  too  rough  for 
you,  I  would  go  anywhere  with  you  that  you  choose  to  live.  I 
was  looking  at  the  houses  in  Essex.  I  would  go  to  Essex,  or 
anywhere  you  might  wish  ;  that  need  not  separate  us  at  all.  And 
why  are  you  so  cold  and  distant,  Gerty  ?  Has  anything  happened 
here  to  displease  you  ?  Have  we  frightened  you  by  too  much  of 
the  boats  and  of  the  sea?  Would  you  rather  live  in  an  English 
county  away  from  the  sea  ?  But  I  would  do  that  for  you,  Gerty 
— if  I  was  never  to  see  a  sea-bird  again." 

And  in  spite  of  himself  tears  rose  quickly  to  his  eyes ;  for  she 
seemed  so  far  away  from  him,  even  as  he  held  her  hand ;  and  his 
heart  would  speak  at  last — or  break. 

"  It  was  all  the  winter  months  T  Avas  saying  to  myself, '  Now 
you  will  not  vex  her  with  too  much  pleading,  for  she  has  much 
trouble  with  her  work ;  and  that  is  enough  ;  and  a  man  can  bear 
his  own  trouble.'  And  once  or  twice,  when  we  have  been  caught 
in  a  bad  sea,  I  said  to  myself,  '  And  what  matter  now  if  the  end 
comes? — for  perhaps  that  would  only  release  her.'  But  then 
again,  Gerty,  I  thought  of  the  time  you  gave  me  the  red  rose ; 
and  I  said, '  Surely  her  heart  will  not  go  aAvay  from  me ;  and  I 
have  plenty  to  live  for  yet !' " 

Then  she  looked  him  frankly  in  the  face,  with  those  beautiful, 
clear,  sad  eyes. 

"  You  deserve  all  the  love  a  woman  can  give  you,  Keith ;  for 
you  have  a  man's  heart.  And  I  wish  I  could  make  you  a  fair 
return  for  all  your  courage,  and  gentleness,  and  kindness — " 


GOO  MACLEOD    OF    DAKE, 

"  Ab,  do  not  say  that,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  Do  not  think  I  am 
complaining-  of  yon,Gerty.  It  is  cuuiigh — it  is  cnongh — I  thank 
God  for  his  mercy  to  me  ;  for  there  never  was  any  man  so  glad 
as  I  was  when  you  gave  me  the  red  rose.  And  now,  sweetheart 
— now  you  will  tell  me  that  I  will  put  away  all  this  trouble  and 
have  no  more  fears ;  and  there  will  be  no  need  to  think  of  what 
you  are  doing  far  away ;  and  there  will  be  one  day  that  all  the 
people  will  know — and  there  will  be  laughing  and  gladness  that 
day  ;  and  if  we  will  keep  the  pipes  away  from  you,  all  the  peo])le 
about  will  have  the  pipes,  and  there  will  be  a  dance  and  a  song 
that  day.  Ah,  Gerty,  you  must  not  think  harshly  of  the  people 
about  here.  They  liave  their  ways.  They  would  like  to  please 
you.  But  my  heart  is  with  them  ;  and  a  marriage-day  would  be 
no  marriage-day  to  me  that  I  did  not  spend  among  my  own  peo- 
ple— my  own  people." 

He  was  talking  quite  wildly.  She  had  seen  him  in  this  mood 
once  or  twice  before,  and  she  was  afraid. 

"  But  you  know,  Keith,"  said  she,  gently,  and  with  averted 
eyes, "  a  great  deal  lias  to  be  done  before  then.  And  a  woman 
is  not  so  impulsive  as  a  man  ;  and  you  must  not  be  angry  if  I 
beg  for  a  little  time — " 

"And  what  is  time  ?"  said  he,  in  the  same  glad  and  wild  way — 
and  now  it  was  his  hand  holding  hers  that  was  tremblinir.  "  It 
will  all  go  by  in  a  moment — like  a  dream — when  we  know  that 
the  one  splendid  day  is  coming.  And  I  will  send  a  haunch  to 
the  Dubh  Artach  men  that  morning;  and  I  will  send  a  haunch 
to  Skerryvore;  and  there  Avill  not  be  a  man  in  lona,  or  Coll,  or 
Mull,  that  will  not  have  his  dram  that  day.  And  what  will  you 
do,  Gerty — what  will  you  do  ?  Oh,  I  will  tell  you  now  what  you 
will  do  on  that  morning.  You  will  take  out  some  sheets  of  the 
beautiful,  small,  scented  paper ;  and  you  will  write  to  this  theatre 
and  to  that  theatre:  ''Good-bye — perhaps  you  were  useful  to  me 
once,  and  I  bear  you  no  ill-ivill :  but —  Good-bye  for  ever  and 
everP  And  I  will  have  all  the  children  that  I  took  to  the  Crys- 
tal Palace  last  summer  given  a  fine  dinner;  and  the  six  boy- 
pipers  will  play  Mrs.  Macleod  of  Raasay  again ;  and  they  will 
have  a  fine  reel  once  more.  There  Avill  be  many  a  one  know 
that  you  are  married  that  day,  Gerty.  And  when  is  the  day 
to  be,  Gerty  ?     Cannot  you  tell  me  now  ?" 

"There  is  a  drop  of  rain!"  she  exclaimed;  and  she  suddenly 


A    CAVE    IN    MULL.  301 

sprang  to  her  feet.  The  skies  were  black  overhead.  "  Oh,  dear 
me  !"  she  said,  "  how  thoughtless  of  us  to  leave  your  poor  cousin 
Janet  in  that  open  boat,  and  a  shower  coming  on  !  Please  give 
me  your  hand  now,  Keith.  And  you  nmst  not  take  all  these 
things  so  seriously  to  heart,  you  know;  or  I  will  say  you  have 
not  the  courage  of  a  feeble  woman  like  myself.  And  do  you 
think  the  shower  will  pass  over?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  in  a  vague  way,  as  if  he  had  not 
quite  understood  the  question  ;  but  he  took  her  hand,  and  in 
silence  guided  her  down  to  the  rocks,  where  the  boat  was  ready 
to  receive  them. 

And  now  they  saw  the  strange  transformation  that  had  come 
over  the  world.  The  great  troubled  sea  was  all  of  a  dark  slate- 
green,  with  no  glad  ripples  of  white,  but  with  long  squally  drifts 
of  black ;  and  a  cold  wind  was  blowing  gustily  in ;  and  there 
were  hurrying  clouds  of  a  leaden  hue  tearing  across  the  sky.  As 
for  the  islands — where  were  they  ?  Ulva  was  visible,  to  be  sure, 
and  Colonsay — both  of  them  a  heavy  and  gloomy  purple ;  and 
nearer  at  hand  the  rock  of  Errisker  showed  in  a  wan,  gray  light 
between  the  lowering  sky  and  the  squally  sea;  but  Lunga,  and 
Fladda,  and  Staffa,  and  lona,  and  even  the  long  promontory  of 
the  Ross  of  Mull,  v.-ere  all  hidden  away  behind  the  driving  mists 
of  rain. 

"  Oh  you  lazy  people !"  Janet  Macleod  cried,  cheerfully — she 
was  not  at  all  frightened  by  the  sudden  storm.  "  I  thought  the 
wild  beast  had  killed  you  in  the  cave.  And  shall  we  have  lunch- 
con  now,  Keith,  or  go  back  at  once  ?" 

He  cast  an  eye  toward  the  westward  horizon  and  the  threaten- 
ing sky :  Janet  noticed  at  once  that  he  was  rather  pale. 

"We  will  have  luncheon  as  they  pull  us  back,"  said  he,  in  an 
absent  way,  as  if  he  was  not  quite  sure  of  what  was  happening 
around  him. 

He  got  her  into  the  boat,  and  then  followed.  The  men,  not 
sorrv  to  get  away  from  these  jagged  rocks,  took  to  their  oars 
with  a  will.  And  then  he  sat  silent  and  distraught,  as  the  two 
women,  muffled  up  in  their  cloaks,  chatted  cheerfully,  and  par- 
took of  the  sandwiches  and  claret  that  Janet  had  got  out  of  the 
basket.  "jP/«V  a  bhata,^''  the  men  sang  to  themselves  ;  and  they 
passed  under  the  great  cliffs,  all  black  and  thunderous  now  ;  and 
the  white  surf  was  springing  over  the  rocks.     Macleod  neither 


002  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

ate  nor  drank ;  but  sometimes  lie  joined  in  tbe  conversation  in  a 
forced  way ;  and  occasionally  lie  laughed  more  loudly  than  the 
occasion  warranted. 

"  Oh  yes,"  ho  said,  "  oh  yes,  you  are  becoming  a  good  sailor 
now,  Gertrude.     You  have  no  longer  anv  fear  of  the  water." 

"  You  will  become  like  little  Johnny  Wickes,  Miss  "White,"  the 
cousin  Janet  said,  "  the  little  boy  I  showed  you  the  other  day. 
He  has  got  to  be  like  a  duck  in  Ijis  love  for  the  water.  And,  in- 
deed, I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  got  a  fright  when 
Keith  saved  him  from  drowning ;  but  no." 

"Did  vou  save  him  from  being  drowned?"  she  said,  turninir  to 
bim.     "And  you  did  not  tell  me  the  story?" 

"It  was  no  story,"  said  he.  "He  fell  into  the  water,  and  we 
picked  him  up  somehow ;"  and  then  he  turned  impatiently  to  the 
men,  and  said  some  words  to  them  iu  the  Gaelic,  and  there  was 
no  more  singing  of  the  Farewell  to  the  Boatman  after  that. 

They  got  home  to  Castle  Dare  before  the  rain  came  on ; 
though,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  passing  shower,  and  it  was  succeeded 
by  a  bright  afternoon  that  deepened  into  a  clear  and  brilliant 
sunset;  but  as  they  went  up  through  the  moist -smelling  larch- 
wood —  and  as  Janet  happened  to  fall  behind  for  a  moment,  to 
speak  to  a  herd-boy  who  was  by  the  way-side — Macleod  said  to 
his  companion, 

"And  have  you  no  other  word  for  me,  Gertrude?" 

Then  she  said,  with  a  very  gracious  smile, 

"  You  must  be  patient,  Keith.  Are  we  not  very  well  oflE  as 
we  are  ?  I  know  a  good  many  people  who  are  not  quite  so  well 
off.  And  I  have  no  doubt  wc  shall  have  courage  to  meet  what- 
ever good  or  bad  fortune  the  days  msy  bring  us ;  and  if  it  is 
good,  then  we  shall  shake  bands  over  it,  just  as  the  village  people 
do  in  an  opera." 

Fine  phrases ;  though  this  man,  wnth  the  dark  and  hopeless 
look  in  his  eyes,  did  not  seem  to  gain  much  gladness  from  them. 
And  she  forgot  to  tell  him  about  that  engagement  which  was 
to  last  till  Christmas ;  perhaps  if  she  had  told  him  just  then  he 
would  scarcely  have  beard  her. 


THE    NEW    TKAGEUY.  303 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE     NEW     TRAGEDY. 

His  generous,  large  nature  fouglit  bard  to  find  excuses  for  her. 
He  strove  to  convince  himself  that  this  strange  coldness,  this  eva- 
sion, this  half-repellent  attitude,  was  but  a  form  of  maiden  coy- 
ness. It  was  her  natural  fear  of  so  great  a  change.  It  was  the 
result,  perhaps,  of  some  last  lingering  look  back  to  the  scene  of 
her  artistic  triumphs.  It  did  not  even  occur  to  him  as  a  possi- 
bility that  this  woman,  with  her  unstable  sympathies  and  her  fa- 
tally facile  imagination,  should  have  taken  up  what  was  novv  the 
very  eud  and  aim  of  his  life,  and  have  played  with  the  pretty 
dream  until  she  grew  tired  of  the  toy,  and  was  ready  to  let  her 
wandering  fancy  turn  to  something  other  and  new. 

He  dared  not  even  think  of  that ;  but  all  the  same,  as  he  stood 
at  this  open  window  alone,  an  unknown  fear  had  come  over  him. 
It  was  a  fear  altogether  vague  and  undefined ;  but  it  seemed  to 
have  the  power  of  darkening  the  daylight  around  him.  Here 
was  the  very  picture  he  had  so  often  desired  that  she  should  see 
— the  wind-swept  Atlantic;  the  glad  blue  skies  with  their  drifting 
clouds  of  summer  white ;  the  Erisgeir  rocks ;  the  green  shores  of 
Ulva;  and  Colonsay  and  Gometra  and  Staffa  all  shining  in  the 
sunlight ;  with  the  sea-birds  calling,  and  the  waves  breaking,  and 
the  soft  west  wind  stirring  the  fuchsia-bushes  below  the  windows 
of  Castle  Dare.  And  it  was  all  dark  now;  and  the  sea  was  a 
lonely  thing — more  lonely  than  ever  it  had  been  even  during  that 
long  winter  that  he  had  said  was  like  a  grave. 

And  she? — at  this  moment  she  was  down  at  the  small  bridge 
that  crossed  the  burn.  She  had  gone  out  to  seek  her  father;  had 
found  him  coming  up  through  the  larch-wood,  and  was  now  ac- 
companying him  back.  They  had  rested  here ;  he  sitting  on  the 
weather-worn  parapet  of  the  bridge  ;  she  leaning  over  it,  and  idly 
dropping  bits  of  velvet-green  moss  into  the  whirl  of  clear  brown 
water  below. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  be  thinking  of  getting  away  from  Castle 
Dare,  Gerty,"  said  he. 


304  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  I  shall  not  be  sorry,"  slie  answered. 

But  even  Mr,  White  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  the  cool 
promptitude  of  this  reply. 

"Well,  you  know  your  own  business  best,"  he  said  to  her.  "It 
is  not  for  me  to  interfere.  I  said  from  the  be^inninof  I  would 
not  mterfere.  But  still  I  wish  you  would  be  a  little  more  ex- 
plicit, Gerty,  and  let  one  understand  what  you  mean — whether,  in 
fact,  you  do  mean,  or  do  not  mean,  to  marry  Macleod." 

"And  who  said  that  I  proposed  not  to  marry  him?"  said  she; 
but  she  still  leaned  over  the  rough  stones  and  looked  at  the  wa- 
ter. "  The  first  thing  that  would  make  me  decline  would  be  the 
driving  me  into  a  corner — the  continual  goading,  and  reminding 
me  of  the  duty  I  had  to  perform.  There  has  been  just  a  little 
too  much  of  that  here" — and  at  this  point  she  raised  herself  so 
that  she  could  regard  her  father  when  she  wished — "  and  I  really 
must  say  that  I  do  not  like  to  be  taking  a  holiday  with  the  feel- 
ing hanging  over  you  that  certain  things  are  expected  of  you  ev- 
ery other  moment,  and  that  you  run  the  risk  of  being  considered 
a  very  heartless  and  ungrateful  person  unless  you  do  and  say  cer- 
tain things  you  would  perhaps  rather  not  do  and  say.  I  should 
like  to  be  let  alone.  I  hate  being  goaded.  And  I  certainly  did 
not  expect  that  you,  too,  papa,  would  try  to  drive  me  into  a  cor- 
ner." 

She  spoke  with  some  little  warmth.     Mr.  White  smiled. 

"  I  was  quite  unaware,  Gerty,"  said  he,  "  that  you  were  suffering 
this  fearful  persecution." 

"  You  may  laugh,  but  it  is  true,"  said  slie,  and  there  was  a  tri- 
fle of  color  in  her  checks.  "  The  serious  interests  I  am  supposed 
to  be  concerned  about!  -Sueh  profound  topics  of  conversation! 
Will  the  steamer  come  b3S?tne  south  to-morrow,  or  round  by  the 
north  ?  The  Gometra  men  have  had  a  good  take  of  lobsters  yes- 
terday. Will  the  head-man  at  the  Something  lifrht-house  be  trans- 
ferred  to  some  other  light-house?  and  how  will  his  wife  and  fam- 
ily like  the  change?  They  are  doing  very  well  with  a  subscrip- 
tion for  a  bell  for  the  Free  Church  at  lona.  The  deer  have  been 
down  at  John  Maclean's  barley  again.  Would  I  like  to  visit  the 
weaver  at  lona  who  has  such  a  wonderful  turn  for  mathematics? 
and  would  I  like  to  know  the  man  at  Salen  who  has  the  biogra- 
phies of  all  the  great  men  of  the  time  in  his  head  ?" 

Miss  White  had  worked  herself  up  to  a  pretty  pitch  of  con- 


THE    NEW    TRAGEDY.  '  305 

tcmptuous  indignation ;  her  fatlier  was  almost  beginning  to  be- 
lieve that  it  was  ival. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  fur  the  Macleods  to  interest  themselves 
with  these  trumpery  little  local  matters.  They  play  the  part  of 
grand  patron  ;  the  people  are  proud  to  honor  them  ;  it  is  a  con- 
descension when  they  remember  the  name  of  the  crofter's  young- 
est boy.  But  as  for  me — when  I  am  taken  about — well,  I  do  not 
like  being  stared  at  as  if  they  thought  I  was  wearing  too  tine 
clothes.  I  don't  like  being  continually  placed  in  a  position  of 
inferiority  through  my  ignorance — an  old  fool  of  a  boatman  say- 
ing '  Bless  me !'  when  I  have  to  admit  that  I  don't  know  the  dif- 
ference between  a  sole  and  a  flounder.  I  don't  want  to  know.  I 
don't  want  to  be  continually  told.  I  wish  these  people  would 
meet  me  on  my  own  ground.  I  wish  the  Macleods  would  begin 
to  talk  after  dinner  about  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  interference 
with  the  politics  of  burlesques,  and  then  perhaps  they  would  not 
be  so  glib.  I  am  tired  of  hearing  about  John  Maclean's  boat,  and 
Donald  Maclean's  horse,  and  Sandy  Maclean's  refusal  to  pay  the 
road-tax.  And  as  for  the  drinking  of  whiskey  that  these  sail- 
ors get  through — well,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  ordinary  condition 
of  things  is  reversed  here  altogether;  and  if  the}'  ever  put  up 
an  asylum  in  Mull,  it  will  be  a  lunatic  asylum  for  incurable  ab- 
stainers." 

"  Now,  now,  Gerty  !"  said  her  father ;  but  all  the  same  he  rath- 
er liked  to  see  his  daughter  get  on  her  high  horse,  for  she  talked 
with  spirit,  and  it  amused  him.  "  You  must  remember  that  Mac- 
Icod  looks  on  this  as  a  holiday-time,  and  perhaps  he  may  be  a  lit- 
tle lax  in  his  regulations.  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  because  he  is  so 
proud  to  have  you  on  board  his  yaa||||that  he  occasionally  gives 
the  men  an  extra  glass ;  and  I  am  s«lPIR  does  them  no  harm,  for 
they  seem  to  mo  to  be  as  much  in  the  water  as  out  of  it." 

She  paid  no  heed  to  this  protest.  She  was  determined  to  give 
free  speech  to  her  sense  of  wrong,  and  humiliation,  and  disap- 
pointment. 

"  What  has  been  the  great  event  since  ever  we  came  liere — the 
wildest  excitement  the  island  can  afford  ?"  she  said.  "  The  arrival 
of  the  peddler!  A  snuffy  ohl  man  comes  into  the  room,  with  a 
huge  bundle  wrapped  up  in  dirty  water-proof.  Then  there  is  a 
wild  clatter  of  Gaelic.  But  suddenly,  don't  you  know,  there  are 
one  or  two  glances  at  me;  and  the  Gaelic  stops ;  and  Duncan,  or 


30G  MACLEOD    OF    DARK. 

John,  or  whatever  they  call  him,  begins  to  stammer  in  English, 
and  I  am  shown  coarse  stockings,  and  bundles  of  wool,  and  drug- 
get petticoats,  and  cotton  handkerchiefs.  And  then  Miss  Macleod 
buys  a  number  of  things  which  I  know  she  does  not  want;  and 
I  am  looked  on  as  a  strange  creature  because  I  do  not  purchase  a 
bundle  of  wool  or  a  pair  of  stockings  fit  for  a  farmer.  The  Au- 
tolycus  of  Mull  is  not  impressive,  pappy.  Oh,  but  I  forgot  the 
dramatic  surprise — that  also  was  to  be  an  event,  I  have  no  doubt. 
I  was  suddenly  introduced  to  a  child  dressed  in  a  kilt;  and  I  was 
to  speak  to  liim  ;  and  I  suppose  I  was  to  be  profoundly  moved 
when  I  heard  him  speak  to  me  in  my  own  tongue  in  this  out-of- 
the-world  place.  My  own  tongue !  The  liorrid  little  wretch  has 
not  an  /i." 

"  Well,  there's  no  pleasing  you,  Gerty,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  pleased ;  I  want  to  be  let  alone,"  said  she. 

But  she  said  this  with  just  a  little  too  much  sharpness;  for 
her  father  was,  after  all,  a  human  being ;  and  it  did  seem  to  him 
to  be  too  bad  that  lie  should  be  taunted  in  this  fashion,  when  he 
liad  done  his  best  to  preserve  a  wholly  neutral  attitude. 

"Let  me  tell  you  this,  madam,"  said  he,  in  a  playful  manner, 
but  with  some  decision  in  his  tone,  "  that  you  may  live  to  have 
the  pride  taken  out  of  you.  You  have  had  a  good  deal  of  flat- 
tery and  spoiling;  and  you  may  find  out  you  have  been  expect- 
ing too  much.  As  for  these  Macleods  here,  I  will  say  this — al- 
tliough  I  came  here  very  much  against  ray  own  inclination — that 
I  defy  any  one  to  have  been  more  kind,  and  courteous,  and  atten- 
tive than  they  have  been  to  you.  I  don't  care.  It  is  not  my 
business,  as  I  tell  you.  But  I  must  say,  Gerty,  that  when  you 
make  a  string  of  complaints  as  the  only  return  for  all  their  hos- 
pitalitv — their  excessive  and  almost  burdensome  hospitality — I 
think  that  even  I  am  bound  to  say  a  w'ord.  You  forget  how  you 
come  here.  You,  a  perfect  stranger,  come  here  as  engaged  to 
marry  the  old  lady's  only  son — to  dispossess  her — very  probably 
to  make  impossible  a  match  that  she  had  set  her  heart  on.  And 
both  she  and  her  niece — you  understand  what  I  mean — instead 
of  being  cold,  or  at  least  formal,  to  you,  seem  to  me  to  think  of 
nothing  from  morning  till  night  but  how  to  surround  you  Avith 
kindness,  in  a  way  that  Englishwomen  would  never  think  of. 
And  this  you  call  persecution ;  and  you  are  vexed  with  them  be- 
cause they  won't  talk  to  you  about  theatres — why,  bless  my  soul, 


THE    NEW    TRAGEDY.  307 

how  long  is  it  since  you  were  yourself  talking  about  theatres  as 
if  the  very  word  choked  you  ?" 

"  Well,  at  least,  pappy,  I  never  thought  you  would  turn  against 
me,"  said  she,  as  she  put  her  head  partly  aside,  and  made  a  mouth 
as  if  she  were  about  to  cry  ;  "  and  when  mamma  made  you  prom- 
ise to  look  after  Carry  and  me,  I  am  sure  she  never  thought — " 

Now  this  was  too  much  for  Mr.  White.  In  the  small  eyes 
behind  the  big  gold  spectacles  tliere  was  a  quick  flash  of  fire. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Gerty  !"  said  he,  in  downriajht  ano-er.  "  You 
know  it  is  no  use  your  trying  to  humbug  me.  If  you  think  the 
ways  of  this  house  are  too  poor  and  mean  for  your  grand  notions 
of  state — if  you  think  he  has  not  enough  money,  and  you  are  not 
likely  to  have  line  dinners  and  entertainments  for  your  friends — 
if  you  are  determined  to  break  off  the  match — why,  then  do  it ! 
but,  I  tell  you,  don't  try  to  humbug  me !" 

Miss  White's  pathetic  attitude  suddenly  vanished.  She  drew 
herself  up  with  much  dignity  and  composure,  and  said, 

"At  all  events,  sir,  I  have  been  taught  my  duty  to  you;  and  I 
think  it  better  not  to  answer  you." 

With  that  she  moved  olt  toward  the  house ;  and  Mr.  White, 
taking  to  whistling,  began  to  do  as  she  had  been  doing  —  idly 
throwing  bits  of  moss  into  the  rushing  burn.  After  all,  it  was 
none  of  his  business. 

But  that  evening,  some  little  time  before  dinner,  it  was  pro- 
posed they  should  go  for  a  stroll  down  to  the  shore ;  and  then  it 
was  that  Miss  White  thought  she  would  seize  the  occasion  to  let 
Macleod  know  of  her  arrangements  for  the  coming  antnmn  and 
winter.  Ordinarily,  on  such  excursions,  she  managed  to  walk 
with  Janet  Macleod — the  old  lady  of  Castle  Dare  seldom  joined 
them — leaving  Macleod  to  follow  witlrher  father;  but  this  time 
she  so  managed  it  that  Macleod  and  she  left  the  house  together. 
Was  he  greatly  overjoyed  ?  There  was  a  constrained  and  anxious 
look  on  his  face  that  had  been  there  too  much  of  late. 

"  I  suppose  Oscar  is  more  at  home  here  than  in  Bury  Street, 
St.  James's?"  said  she,  as  the  handsome  collie  went  down  the  path 
before  them. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  lie,  absently  :  he  was  not  thinking  of  any 
collie. 

"  What  beautiful  weather  Ave  are  having,"  said  she,  to  this  si- 
lent companion.     "It  is  always  changing,  but  always  beautiful. 


308  MACLEOD    OF    DARE, 

Tlierc  is  only  one  other  aspect  I  sliould  like  to  sec — the  snow- 
time." 

"  VVc  luive  nut  uuicli  snow  here,"  said  he.  "  It  seldom  lies  in 
tlic  winter." 

This  was  a  strange  conversation  for  two  engaged  lovers:  it 
was  not  much  more  interesting  than  their  talk — how  many  ages 
ago? — at  Charing  Cross  station.  But  then,  when  she  had  said 
to  him,  "  Ought  loc  to  take  tickets?''''  she  had  looked  into  his  face 
with  those  appealing,  innocent,  beautiful  eyes.  Now  her  eyes 
never  met  his.     She  was  afraid. 

She  managed  to  lead  up  to  her  announcement  skilfully  enough. 
By  the  time  they  reached  the  shore  an  extraordinarily  beautiful 
sunset  was  shining  over  the  sea  and  the  land — something  so  be- 
wildering and  wonderful  that  they  all  four  stopped  to  look  at  it. 
The  Atlantic  was  a  broad  expanse  of  the  palest  and  most  brilliant 
green,  with  the  pathwav  of  the  sun  a  flashinix  line  of  ffold  comintr 
right  across  until  it  met  the  rocks,  and  these  were  a  jet  black 
against  the  glow.  Then  the  distant  islands  of  Colonsay,  and 
Staffa,  and  Lungn,  and  Fiadda  lying  on  this  shining  green  sea, 
appeared  to  be  of  a  perfectly  transparent  bronze ;  while  nearer 
at  hand  the  long  ranges  of  cliffs  were  becoming  a  pale  rose-red 
under  the  darkening  blue-gray  sky.  It  was  a  blaze  of  color  such 
as  she  had  never  even  dreamed  of  as  being  possible  in  nature ; 
nothing  she  had  as  yet  seen  in  these  northern  latitudes  had  at  all 
approached  it.  And  as  she  stuod  there,  and  looked  at  those 
transparent  islands  of  bronze  on  the  green  sea,  she  said  to  liim, 

"Do  you  know,  Keith,  this  is  not  at  all  like  the  place  I  had 
imagined  as  the  scene  of  the  glooniy  stoi'ies  you  used  to  tell  me 
about  the  revenges  of  the  clans.  I  have  been  frightened  once  or 
twice  since  I  came  here,  no  doubt,  by  the  wild  sea,  and  the  dark- 
ness of  the  cathedral,  and  so  forth  ;  but  the  longer  I  stay  the  less 
I  see  to  suggest  those  awful  stories.  How  could  you  associate 
such  an  evening  as  this  with  a  frightful  tragedy  ?  Do  you  think 
those  people  ever  existed  who  v.-ere  supposed  to  have  suffocated, 
or  slaughtered,  or  starved  to  death  any  one  who  opposed  their 
wishes  ?" 

"And  I  d.)  not  suppo-e  they  troubled  themselves  much  about 
fine  sunsets,"  said  he.  "That  was  not  what  they  had  to  think 
about  in  those  days." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  she,  lightly  ;  "  but,  you  know,  I  had  ex- 


TUE    NEW    TKAOEUV.  209 

pcctcd  to  find  a  })l;icc  from  wlilcli  I  could  gain  some  inspiration 
for  tragedy — for  I  should  like  to  try,  once  for  all — if  1  should 
liave  to  give  up  the  stage — whether  I  had  the  stuff  of  a  tragic 
actress  in  me.  And,  you  know,  in  that  case,  I  ought  to  dress  in 
black  velvet,  and  carry  a  taper  through  dungeons,  and  get  ac- 
customed to  storms,  and  gloom,  and  thunder  and  lightning." 

"  \Vc  have  no  appliances  here  for  the  education  of  an  actress 
— I  am  very  sorry,"  said  he. 

"  Now,  Keith,  that  is  hardly  fair,"  said  she,  with  a  smile.  "  You 
know  it  is  only  a  trial.  And  you  saw  wliat  they  said  of  my 
Juliet.  Oh,  did  I  tell  you  about  the  new  tragedy  that  is  coming 
out?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  you  did,"  said  he. 

"Ah,  well,  it  is  a  great  secret  as  yet;  but  there  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  hear  of  it." 

"  I  am  not  anxious  to  hear  of  it,"  said  he,  without  any  rudeness. 

"But  it  concerns  me,"  she  said,  "and  so  I  must  tell  you.  It 
is  written  by  a  brother  of  Mr.  Lemuel,  the  artist  I  have  often 
spoken  to  you  about.  He  is  by  profession  an  architect ;  but  if 
this  play  should  turn  out  to  be  as  fine  as  some  people  say  it  is, 
he  ought  to  take  to  dramatic  Avriting.  In  fact,  all  the  Lemuels — 
there  are  three  brothers  of  them,  you  know  —  are  like  Michael 
Angclo  and  Leonardo — artists  to  the  finger-tips,  in  every  direc- 
tion— poets,  painters,  sculptors,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  And  I  do 
think  I  ought  to  feel  flattered  by  their  choice  in  asking  rac  to 
play  the  heroine ;  for  so  much  depends  on  the  choice  of  the 
actress — " 

"And  you  are  still  to  act?"  said  he,  quickly,  tliough  he  spoke 
in  a  low  voice,  so  that  those  behind  should  not  hear. 

"  Surely  I  explained  to  you  ?"  said  she,  in  a  pleasant  manner. 
"After  all,  life-long  habits  are  not  so  easily  cast  aside;  and  I 
knew  you  would  be  generous,  and  bear  with  me  a  little  bit, 
Keith." 

He  turned  to  her.  The  glow  of  the  sunset  caught  his  face. 
There  was  a  strange,  hopeless  sadness  in  his  eyes. 

"Generous  to  you?"  said  he.  "You  know  I  would  give  you 
my  life  if  that  would  serve  you.  But  this  is  worse  than  taking 
my  life  from  me." 

"  Keith,  Keith !"  said  she,  in  gentle  protest,  "  I  don't  know 
what   vou   mean.     Yon    sliould  not   take   things   so   seriously. 


310  MACLEOD    OF    PAKE. 

What  is  it,  after  all  ?  It  was  as  an  actress  that  you  knew  mo 
first.  AVhat  is  the  difference  of  a  few  months  more  or  less?  If 
I  had  not  been  an  actress,  you  would  never  have  known  me — do 
you  recollect  that  ?  By-the-way,  has  Major  Stuart's  wife  got  a 
piano  ?" 

He  turned  and  stared  at  her  for  a  second,  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh,  "Mrs.  Stuart  has  got  a  piano  ; 
she  has  got  a  very  good  piano.  And  w'hat  is  the  song  you  would 
sing  now,  sweetheart?  Shall  we  finish  up  and  have  done  with 
it,  with  a  song  at  the  end  ?  That  is  the  way  in  the  theatre,  \'ou 
know — a  dance  and  a  song  as  the  people  go.  And  what  shall 
our  song  be  now  ?  There  was  one  that  Norman  Oi^ilvie  used  to 
sing." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  talk  to  me  like  that,  Keith," 
said  she,  though  she  seemed  somewhat  frightened  by  this  fierce 
gayety.  "  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  if  Mrs.  Stuart  had  a  piano 
I  would  very  gladly  sing  one  or  two  songs  for  your  mother  and 
Miss  Macleod  when  we  went  over  there  to-morrow.  You  have 
frequently  asked  me.  Indeed,  I  have  brought  with  me  the  very 
songs  I  sung  to  you  the  first  time  I  saw  you — at  Mrs.  Ross's." 

Instantly  his  memory  flew  back  to  that  day — to  the  hushed 
little  room  over  the  sunlit  gardens — to  the  beautiful,  gentle,  sensi- 
tive girl  who  seemed  to  have  so  strange  an  interest  in  the  High- 
lands— to  the  wonderful  thrill  that  went  through  him  Avhen  she 
began  to  sing  with  an  exquisite  pathos,  "A  wee  bird  cam'  to  our 
ha'  door,"  and  to  the  prouder  enthusiasm  that  stirred  him  when 
she  sang,  "  I'll  to  Lochiel,  and  Appin,  and  kneel  to  them !" 
These  were  fine,  and  tender,  and  proud  songs.  There  was  no 
gloom  about  them — nothing  about  a  grave,  and  the  dark  winter- 
time, and  a  faithless  lost  love.  This  song  of  Norman  Ogilvie's 
that  he  had  gayly  proposed  they  should  sing  now  ?  What  had 
Major  Stuart,  or  his  wife,  or  any  one  in  Mull  to  do  with  "Death's 
black  wine  ?" 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you,  Keith,"  said  she,  somewhat  nervously, 
"  that  I  had  signed  an  engagement  to  remain  at  the  Piccadilly 
Theatre  till  Christmas  next.  I  knew  you  wouldn't  mind  —  I 
mean,  you  would  be  considerate,  and  you  would  understand  how 
difiicult  it  is  for  one  to  break  away  all  at  once  from  one's  old 
associations.  And  then,  you  know,  Keith,"  said  she,  shyly, 
"thougli  you  may  not  like  the  theatre,  you  ought  to  be  proud  of 


AN    UNDEUSTANUING.  311 

my  success,  as  even  my  friends  and  acquaintances  are.  And  as 
tliey  are  all  anxious  to  see  me  make  another  appearance  in  trai^-- 
cdy,  I  really  should  like  to  try  it;  so  that  when  my  portrait  jip- 
pears  in  the  Academy  next  year,  people  may  not  be  sayinu', 
'Look  at  the  impertinence  of  that  girl  appearing  as  a  tragic  ac- 
tress when  she  can  do  nothing  beyond  the  familiar  modern  com- 
edy !'  I  should  have  told  you  all  about  it  before,  Keith,  but  I 
know  you  hate  to  hear  any  talk  about  the  theatre;  and  I  sha'n't 
bore  you  again,  you  may  depend  on  that.  Isn't  it  time  to  go 
back  now?  See!  the  rose-color  is  away  from  Ulva  now;  it  is 
quite  a  dark  purple." 

lie  turned  in  silence  and  led  the  way  back.  Behind  them  he 
could  faintly  hear  Mr.  White  discoursing  to  Janet  Macleod  about 
the  manner  in  which  the  old  artists  mixed  their  own  pigments. 
Tiien  Macleod  said,  with  a  great  gentleness  and  restraint, 
"And  when  you  go  away  from  here,  Gertrude,  I  suppose  I 
must  say  good-bye  to  you ;  and  no  one  knows  when  we  shall  see 
each  other  ao;ain.  You  are  returning  to  the  theatre.  If  that  is 
your  wish,  I  would  not  try  to  thwart  it.  You  know  best  what  is 
the  liighest  prize  the  world  can  give  you.  And  how  can  I  warn 
you  against  failure  and  disappointment  ?  I  know  you  will  be 
successful.  I  know  the  people  will  applaud  you,  and  your  head 
will  be  filled  with  their  praises.  You  are  going  forward  to  a 
new  triumph,  Gerty  ;  and  the  first  step  you  will  take  will  be  on 
my  heart."  * 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AN     UNDERSTANDING. 


"  Pappy  dear,"  said  Miss  White  to  her  father,  in  a  playful 
way,  although  it  was  a  serious  sort  of  playfulness,  "  I  have  a 
vague  feeling  that  there  is  a  little  too  much  electricity  in  the 
atmosphere  of  this  place  just  at  present.  I  am  afraid  there  may 
be  an  explosion  ;  and  you  know  my  nerves  can't  stand  much  of 
a  shock.     I  should  be  glad  to  get  away." 

By  this  time  she  had  quite  made  up  that  little  difference  with 
lier  father — she  did  not  choose  to  be  left  alone  at  a  somewhat 
awkward  crisis.      She  liad  told  him   she   was  sure  he  had  not 


312  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

meant  wliat  lie  said  about  her;  and  she  bad  expressed  her  sorrow 
for  having  provoked  liim  ;  and  there  an  end.  And  if  Mr.  White 
liad  been  driven  by  liis  anger  to  bo  for  the  moment  the  ally  of 
Macleod,  he  was  not  disinclined  to  take  the  other  side  now  and 
let  Miss  AVhite  have  her  own  will.  The  vast  amount  of  trainini^ 
he  had  bestowed  on  her  through  many  long  years  was  not  to  be 
thrown  away,  after  all. 

"  I  told  him  last  night,"  said  she,  "  of  my  having  signed  an  en- 
gagement till  Christmas  next." 

"Oh,  indeed  !"  said  her  father,  quickly;  looking  at  her  over  his 
spectacles. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  tlioughtf ully,  "  and  he  was  not  so  disturbed  or 
angry  as  I  had  expected.     Not  at  all.     lie  was  very  kind  about 
it.     But  I  don't  understand  him." 
"What  do  you  not  understand?" 

"He  has  grown  so  strange  of  late  —  so  sombre.     Once,  you 
know,  he  was  the  lightest-hearted  young  man  —  enjoying  every 
minute  of  his  life,  you  know — and  really,  pappy,  I  think — " 
And  here  Miss  AVhite  stopped. 

"At  all  events,"  said  she,  quickly,  "  I  want  to  be  in  a  less  dan- 
gerously excited  atmosphere,  where  I  can  sit  down  and  consider 
matters  calmly.  It  was  much  better  when  he  and  I  corresponded, 
then  we  could  fairly  learn  what  each  other  thought.  Now  I  am 
almost  afraid  of  him — I  mean,  I  am  afraid  to  ask  him  a  question. 
I.have  to  keep  out  of  his  way.  And  if  it  comes  to  that,  pappy, 
you  know,  I  feel  now  as  if  I  was  called  on  to  act  a  part  from 
morning  till  night,  whereas  I  was  always  assured  that  if  I  left  the 
stage  and  married  him  it  was  to  be  my  natural  self,  and  I  should 
have  no  more  need  to  pose  and  sham.  However,  that  is  an  old 
quarrel  between  you  and  me,  pappy,  and  we  Avill  put  it  aside. 
What's  more  to  the  purpose  is  this — it  was  half  understood  that 
when  Ave  left  Castle  Dare  he  was  to  come  with  us  throufi^h  at  least 
a  part  of  the  Highlands." 
"  There  was  a  talk  of  it." 

"Don't  you  think,"  said  Miss  White,  with  some  little  hesita- 
tion, and  with  her  eyes  cast  down — "  don't  you  think  that  would 
be  a  little  inconvenient  V 

"  I  should  say  that  was  for  you  to  decide,"  he  answered,  some- 
wliat  coldly ;  for  it  was  too  bad  that  she  should  be  continually 
asking  his  advice  and  then  openly  disregarding  it. 


AN    UNDERSTANDING.  313 

"I  should  tliiuk  it  would  be  a  little  uncomfortable,"  sbe  said, 
demurely.  "  I  fancy  he  has  taken  that  engagement  till  Christ- 
inas a  little  more  to  heart  than  he  chooses  to  reveal — that  is  nat- 
ural— I  knew  it  would  be  a  disappointment;  but  then,  yon  know, 
pappy,  the  temptation  was  very  great,  and  I  had  almost  promised 
the  Lemuels  to  do  what  I  could  for  the  piece.  And  if  I  am  to 
give  up  the  stage,  wouldn't  it  be  fine  to  wind  up  Avith  a  blaze  of 
fireworks  to  astonish  the  public?" 

"Are  you  so  certain  you  will  astonish  the  public ?"hev  father 
said, 

"I  have  the  courage  to  try,"  she  answered,  readily.  "And  you 
are  not  going  to  throw  cold  water  on  my  endeavors,  are  yon, 
pappy  ?  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  it  is  perhaps  natural  for  Sir  Keith 
Macleod  to  feel  a  bit  annoyed ;  and  I  am  afraid  if  he  went  trav- 
elling with  us,  we  should  be  continually  skating  on  the  edge  of  a 
quarrel.  Besides,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  p<"ppy — with  all  his  kind- 
ness and  gentleness,  there  is  sometimes  about  him  a  sort  of  in- 
tensity that  I  scarcely  like  —  it  makes  me  afraid  of  him.  If  it 
were  on  the  stage,  I  should  say  it  was  a  splendid  piece  of  acting 
— of  the  suppressed  vehement  kind,  you  know  ;  but  really — dur- 
ing a  holiday-time,  when  one  naturally  wishes  to  enjoy  the  fine 
weather  and  gather  strength  for  one's  work — well,  I  do  think  he 
ought  not  to  come  with  us,  pappy." 

"Very  well ;  you  can  hint  as  much  without  being  rude." 

"  I  -was  thinking,"  said  she,  "  of  the  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Baldwin  who 
were  in  that  New^castle  company,  and  wlio  went  to  Aberdeen. 
Do  you  remember  them,  pappy?" 

"The  low  comedian,  you  mean?" 

"  Yes.  Well,  at  all  events  they  would  be  glad  to  see  us.  And 
so — don't  you  think  ? — we  could  let  Macleod  understand  that  we 
were  going  to  see  some  friends  in  the  North?  Then  he  would 
not  think  of  coming  with  us." 

"  The  representation  would  scarcely  be  justifiable,"  observed 
Mr.  White,  with  a  profound  air,  "  in  ordinary  circumstances. 
But,  as  you  say,  it  would  be  neither  for  his  comfort  nor  for 
yours  that  he  should  go  with  us." 

"  Comfort !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Much  comfort  I  have  had  since 
I  came  here  !  Comfort  I  call  quiet,  and  being  let  alone.  An- 
other fortnight  at  this  place  would  give  me  brain-fever  —  your 
life  continually  in  danger  either  on  the  sea  or  by  the  cliffs — your 

14 


314  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

feelJDgs  supposed  to  be  always  up  at  passion  pitch  —  it  is  all  a 
whirl  of  secret  or  declared  emotions  that  don't  give  you  a  mo- 
ment's rest.  Ob,  pappy,  won't  it  be  nice  to  have  a  day  or  two's 
quiet  in  our  own  home,  with  Carry  and  Marie?  And  you  know 
Mr.  Lemuel  will  be  in  town  all  the  summer  and  winter.  The  ma- 
terial for  his  work  he  finds  within  himself.  He  doesn't  need  to 
scamper  ofi  like  the  rest  of  them  to  hunt  out  picturesque  peasants 
and  studies  of  water-falls — trotting  about  the  country  with  a  note- 
book in  hand — " 

"  Gerty,  Gerty,"  said  her  father,  with  a  smile,  "  your  notions 
are  unformed  on  that  subject.  What  have  I  told  you  often  ? — 
that  the  artist  is  only  a  reporter.  Whether  he  uses  the  pencil, 
or  the  pen,  or  his  own  face  and  voice,  to  express  the  highest 
thoughts  and  emotions  of  which  he  is  conscious,  he  is  only  a 
reporter — a  penny-a-liner  whose  words  are  written  in  fire.  And 
you — don't  you  carry  your  note-book  too  ?" 

"  I  was  not  comparing  myself  with  an  artist  like  Mr.  Lemuel, 
pappy.  No,  no.  Of  course  I  have  to  keep  ray  eyes  open,  and 
pick  up  things  that  may  be  useful.  His  work  is  the  work  of  in- 
tense spiritual  conten)plation — it  is  inspiration — " 

"  No  doubt,"  the  father  said ;  "  the  inspiration  of  Botticelli." 

"  Papa  1" 

Mr.  White  chuckled  to  himself.  He  was  not  given  to  joking : 
an  epigram  was  not  in  consonance  with  his  high  sententiousness. 
But  instantly  he  resumed  his  solemn  deportment. 

"A  picture  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  world  as  a  human  face: 
why  should  I  not  take  my  inspiration  from  a  picture  as  well  as 
from  a  human  face  ?" 

"You  mean  to  say  he  is  only  a  copyist — a  plagiarist!"  she 
said,  with  some  indignation. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  he.  "All  artists  have  their  methods  found- 
ed more  or  less  on  the  methods  of  those  Avho  have  gone  before 
them.  You  don't  expect  an  artist  to  discover  for  himself  an  en- 
tirely new  principle  of  art,  any  more  than  you  expect  him  to 
paint  in  pigments  of  his  OAvn  invention.  Mr.  Lemuel  has  been  a 
diligent  student  of  Botticelli — that  is  all." 

This  strange  talk  amidst  the  awful  loneliness  and  grandeur  of 
Glen-Sloich !  They  were  idly  walking  along  the  rough  road :  far 
above  them  rose  the  giant  slopes  of  the  mountains  retreating  into 
heavy  masses  of  cloud  that  were  moved  by  the  currents  of  the 


AN    UNDERSTANDING.  315 

morning"  winJ.  It  was  a  gray  day  ;  and  tlic  fresh-water  lake  here 
was  of  a  leaden  hue,  and  the  browns  and  greens  of  the  mountain- 
side were  dark  and  intense.  There  was  no  sign  of  human  life  o 
habitation ;  there  was  no  bird  singing ;  the  deer  were  far  awaj 
in  the  unknown  valleys  above  them,  hidden  by  the  mystic  cloud- 
phantoms.  There  was  an  odor  of  sweet -gale  in  the  air.  Tha 
only  sound  was  the  murmuring  of  the  streams  that  were  pouring 
down  through  these  vast  solitudes  to  the  sea. 

And  now  they  reached  a  spot  from  whence,  on  turning,  they 
caught  sight  of  the  broad  plain  of  the  Atlantic — all  wind-swept 
and  white.  And  the  sky  was  dark  and  low  down,  though  at  one 
place  the  clouds  had  parted,  and  there  was  a  glimmer  of  blue  as 
narrow  and  keen  as  the  edge  of  a  knife.  But  there  were  showers 
about ;  for  lona  was  invisible,  and  Staffa  was  faintly  gray  through 
the  passing  rain ;  and  Ulva  was  almost  black  as  the  storm  ap- 
proached in  its  gloom.  Botticelli !  Those  men  now  in  that 
small  lug-sailed  boat — far  away  off  the  point  of  Gometra — a  tiny 
dark  thing,  apparently  lost  every  second  or  so  amidst  the  white 
Atlantic  surge,  and  wrestling  hard  with  the  driving  wind  and  sea 
to  reach  the  thundering  and  foam-filled  caverns  of  Staffa — they 
were  not  thinking  much  of  Botticelli.  Keith  Macleod  was  in 
that  boat.  The  evening  before  Miss  White  had  expressed  some 
light  wish  about  some  trifle  or  other,  but  had  laughingly  said 
that  she  must  wait  till  she  got  back  to  the  region  of  shops.  Un- 
known to  her,  Macleod  had  set  off  to  intercept  the  steamer :  and 
he  would  go  on  board  and  get  hold  of  the  steward ;  and  would 
the  steward  be  so  kind  as  to  hunt  about  in  Oban  to  see  if  that 
trifle  could  not  be  found  ?  Macleod  would  not  intrust  so  impor- 
tant a  message  to  any  one  else :  he  would  himself  go  out  to  meet 
the  Pioneer. 

"  The  sky  is  becoming  very  dark,"  Mr.  White  said  ;  "  we  had 
better  go  back,  Gerty." 

But  before  they  had  gone  far  the  first  heavy  drops  were  begin- 
ning to  fall,  and  they  were  glad  to  run  for  refuge  to  some  great 
gray  bowlders  which  lay  in  the  moist  moorland  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain-slopes.  In  the  lee  of  these  rocks  they  were  in  compar- 
ative safety ;  and  they  waited  patiently  until  the  gale  of  wind 
and  rain  should  pass  over.  And  what  were  these  strange  objects 
that  appeared  in  the  gray  mists  far  along  the  valley  ?  She  touch- 
ed her  father's  arm — she  did  not  speak ;  it  was  her  first  sight  of 


310  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

a  herd  of  red-deer ;  and  as  tbe  deer  Lad  doubtless  been  startled  by 
a  shepherd  or  his  dog,  they  were  making  across  the  glen  at  a  good 
speed.  First  came  the  hinds,  running  almost  in  Indian  file,  and 
then,  with  a  longer  stride,  came  one  or  two  stags,  their  antlercd 
heads  high  in  the  air,  as  though  they  were  listening  for  sounds 
behind  them  and  sniffing  the  wind  in  front  of  them  at  the  same 
time.  But  so  far  away  were  they  that  they  were  only  blurred 
objects  passing  through  the  rain-mists ;  they  passed  across  like 
swift  ghosts ;  there  was  no  sound  heard  at  all.  And  then  the 
rain  ceased,  and  the  air  grew  warm  around  them.  They  came 
out  from  the  shadow  of  the  rock — behold !  a  blaze  of  hot  sun 
on  the  moist  moors,  with  a  sudden  odor  of  bracken,  and  young 
heather,  and  sweet-gale  all  about  them.  And  the  sandy  road 
quickly  grew  dry  again  ;  and  the  heavens  opened  ;  and  there  was 
a  flood  of  sunlight  falling  on  that  rushing  and  breezy  Atlantic. 
They  walked  back  to  Dare. 

"  Tuesday,  then,  shall  we  say,  pappy  ?"  she  remarked,  just  bo- 
fore  entering. 

"  Very  well." 

"  And  we  are  going  to  see  some  friends  in  Aberdeen." 

"  Very  well." 

After  this  Miss  "White  became  a  great  deal  more  cheerful;  and 
she  was  very  complaisant  to  them  all  at  luncheon.  And  quite 
by  accident  she  asked  Macleod,  w'ho  had  returned  by  this  time, 
whether  they  talked  Scotch  in  Aberdeen. 

"  Because,  you  know,"  said  she,  "  one  should  always  be  learn- 
ing on  one's  travels ;  and  many  a  time  I  have  heard  people  dis- 
puting about  tlie  pronunciation  of  the  Scotch ;  and  one  ought  to 
be  able  to  read  Burns  with  a  proper  accent.  Now,  you  have  no 
Scotch  at  all  here;  you  don't  say  'my  dawtie,'  and  'ben  the 
hoose,'  and  '  'twixt  the  gloaming  and  the  mirk.'  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  he,  "  we  have  none  of  the  Scotch  at  all,  except 
among  those  who  have  been  for  a  time  to  Glasgow  or  Greenock ; 
and  our  own  language,  the  Gaelic,  is  unknown  to  strangers ;  and 
our  way  of  speaking  English — that  is  only  made  a  thing  to  laugh 
at.  And  yet  I  do  not  laugh  at  all  at  the  blunders  of  our  poor 
people  in  a  strange  tongnie.  Yon  may  laugh  at  us  for  our  way 
of  speaking  English — the  accent  of  it ;  but  it  is  not  fair  to  laugh 
at  the  poor  people  when  they  will  be  making  mistakes  among 
the  verbs.     Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  poor  Highlander  who  was 


AN    UNDEUSTANDIXG.  31V 

asked  bow  be  bad  been  employing  bimsclf,  and,  after  a  long 
time,  be  said,  '  I  wass  for  tree  years  a  berring-fisb,  and  I  wass  for 
four  montlis  or  tbree  montbs  a  broke  stone  on  tbe  road  V  Per- 
baps  tbe  Higblanders  are  not  very  clever  at  picking  up  anotber 
language  ;  but  all  tbe  same  tbat  did  not  prevent  tbeir  going  to 
all  parts  of  tbe  world  and  figbting  tbe  battles  of  otber  people. 
And  do  you  know  tbat  in  Canada  tbere  are  descendants  of  tbe 
Iligblanders  wbo  went  tbere  in  tbe  last  century;  and  tbcy  are 
proud  of  tbeir  name  and  tbeir  bistory  ;  and  tliey  liavc  swords 
tbat  were  used  at  Falkirk  and  Culloden :  but  tbese  Macnabs  and 
Mackays,  and  Camerons,  tbey  speak  only  Frencb  !  But  I  tbink, 
if  tbey  bave  Iligbland  blood  in  tbem,  and  if  tbey  were  to  bear 
tbe  ''Failte  PhrionsaP  played  on  tbe  pipes,  tbey  would  recognize 
tbat  language.     And  wby  were  you  asking  about  Aberdeen  ?" 

"Tbat  is  not  a  Iligbland  but  a  Scotcb  way  of  answering  my 
question,"  said  sbe,  smiling. 

"  Ob,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  be,  bastily ;  "  but  indeed  I  bave 
never  been  to  Aberdeen,  and  I  do  not  know  wbat  it  is  tbey  speak 
tbere ;  but  I  sbould  say  it  was  likely  to  be  a  mixture  of  Scotcb 
and  Englisb,  sucb  as  all  tbe  big  towns  bave.  T  do  not  tbink  it  is 
a  Iligbland  place,  like  Inverness." 

"Now  I  will  answer  your  question,"  said  sbe.  "I  asked  you 
because  papa  and  I  propose  to  go  tbere  before  returning  to  Eng- 
land." How  quickly  tbe  ligbt  fell  from  bis  face  !  "  Tbe  fact 
is,  we  bave  some  friends  tbere." 

Tbere  was  silence.  Tbey  all  felt  tbat  it  was  for  Macleod  to 
speak ;  and  tbey  may  bave  been  guessing  as  to  wbat  was  passing 
in  bis  mind.  But  to  tbeir  surprise  be  said,  in  almost  a  gay 
fasbion, 

"Ab,  well,  you  know  tbey  accuse  lis  Higbland  folk  of  being 
ratber  too  importunate  as  bosts ;  but  we  will  try  not  to  harass 
you  ;  and  if  you  bave  friends  in  Aberdeen,  it  would  not  be  fair 
to  beg  of  you  to  leave  tbem  aside  tbis  time.  But  surely  you  are 
not  tbinking  of  going  to  Aberdeen  yet,  wben  it  is  many  a  place 
you  bave  yet  to  see  about  bere  ?  I  was  to  take  you  in  tbe  Um- 
pire to  Skye ;  and  we  bad  many  a  talk  about  tbe  Lewis,  too." 

"Tbank  you  very  mucb,"  said  sbe,  demureh%  "I  am  sure 
you  bave  been  most  kind  to  us ;  but — tbe  fact  is — I  tbink  v.'c 
must  leave  on  Tuesday." 

"On  Tuesday  !"  said  be;  but  it  was  onlv  for  an  instant  tliat 


318  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

he  winced.  Al;";u;i  in;  roused  himself — for  he  was  talking  in  the 
presence  of  his  luutlicr  and  the  cousin  Janet — "  You  have  not 
been  quite  fair  to  us,"  said  he,  cheerfully  ;  "  you  have  not  given 
yourself  time  to  make  our  acquaintance.  Are  you  determined 
to  go  away  as  you  came — the  Fionaghal?  But  then,  you  know, 
Fionaghal  came  and  stayed  among  us  before  she  began  to  write 
her  sonofs  about  the  Western  Isles ;  and  the  next  time  vou  come 
that  must  be  for  a  longer  time,  and  you  will  get  to  know  us  all 
better,  and  we  w^ill  not  frighten  you  any  more  by  taking  you  on 
the  sea  at  night  or  into  the  cathedral  ruins.  Ah!"  said  he, with 
a  smile  lighting  up  his  face — but  it  was  a  constrained  gayety  alto- 
gether. "Do  I  know  now  why  you  are  hurrying  away  so  soon? 
You  want  to  avoid  that  trip  in  the  Umpire  to  the  island  where  I 
used  to  think  I  would  like  my  grave  to  be — " 

"  Keith  !"  said  Lady  Macleod,  with  a  frov/n.  "  How  can  you 
repeat  that  nonsense  !     Miss  White  will  think  you  are  mad  1" 

"  It  was  only  an  old  fancy,  mother,"  said  he,  gently.  "And 
we  were  thinking  of  going  out  to  one  of  the  Treshnish  islands, 
anyway.  Surely  it  is  a  harmless  thing  that  a  man  should  choose 
out  the  place  of  his  own  grave,  so  long  as  he  does  not  want  to  be 
put  into  it  too  soon." 

"  It  will  be  time  for  you  to  speak  of  such  things  thirty  years 
hence,"  said  Lady  Macleod. 

"Thirty  years  is  a  long  time,"  said  he;  and  tlien  he  added, 
lightl^v,  "  but  if  we  do  not  go  out  to  the  Treshnish  islands,  we 
must  go  somewhere  else  before  the  Tuesday  ;  and  would  you  go 
round  to  Loch  Sunart  now?  or  shall  we  drive  you  to-morrow  to 
see  Glen  More  and  Loch  Buy  ?  And  you  must  not  leave  Mull 
without  visiting  our  beautiful  town — and  capital — that  is  Tober- 
mory." 

Every  one  was  quite  surprised  and  pleased  to  find  Macleod  talc- 
ing the  sudden  departure  of  his  sweetheart  in  this  fashion  ;  it 
showed  that  he  had  abundant  confidence  in  the  future.  And  if 
Miss  White  liad  her  own  thoughts  about  the  matter,  it  was  at  all 
events  satisfactory  to  her  that  outwardly  Macleod  and  she  were 
parting  on  good  terms. 

But  that  evening  he  happened  to  find  her  alone  for  a  few  mo- 
ments ;  and  all  the  forced  cheerfulness  had  left  his  eyes,  and 
there  was  a  dark  look  there — of  hopeless  anxiety  and  pain. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  force  you,  Gerty — to  persecute  you,"  said 


AN   UNDERSTANDING.  319 

he.  "  You  are  our  guest.  But  before  you  go  away,  cannot  you 
give  me  one  definite  word  of  promise  and  hope  —  only  one 
word  ?" 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  don't  want  to  persecute  me,  Keitli,"  said 
she,  "  but  you  should  remember  there  is  a  long  time  of  waiting 
before  us,  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  opportunity  for  explaining 
and  arranging  everything  when  v*e  have  leisure  to  write — " 

*'  To  write  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  But  I  am  coming  to  see  you, 
Gerty  !  Do  you  think  I  could  go  through  another  series  of  long 
months,  with  only  those  letters,  and  letters,  and  letters  to  brealc 
one's  heart  over?  I  could  not  do  it  again,  Gerty.  And  when 
you  have  visited  your  friends  in  Aberdeen,  I  am  coming  to  Lon- 
don." 

"  Why,  Keith,  there  is  the  shooting !" 

"I  do  not  think  I  shall  try  the  shooting  this  year — it  is  an 
anxiety — I  cannot  have  patience  v/ith  it.  I  am  coming  to  Lon- 
don, Gerty." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Keith,"  said  she,  with  an  affectation  of  cheer- 
ful content ;  "  then  there  is  no  use  in  our  taking  a  solemn  good- 
bye just  now — is  there?  You  know  how  I  hate  scenes.  And 
we  shall  part  very  good  friends,  shall  we  not?  And  when  you 
come  to  London,  we  shall  make  up  all  our  little  differences,  and 
liave  everything  on  a  clear  understanding.  Is  it  a  bargain  ? 
Here  comes  your  cousin  Janet — now  show  her  that  we  are  good 
friends,  Keith !  And,  for  goodness'  sake,  don't  say  that  you 
mean  to  give  up  your  shooting  this  year,  or  she  will  wonder  what 
I  have  made  of  you.  Give  up  your  shooting  I  Wliy,  a  woman 
would  as  soon  give  up  her  right  of  being  incomprehensible  and 
whimsical  and  capricious — her  right  of  teasing  people,  as  I  very 
much  fear  I  have  been  teasing  you,  Keith.  But  it  v.ill  be  all  set 
rio-ht  when  vou  come  to  London." 

And  from  that  moment  to  the  moment  of  her  departure  Miss 
White  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely,  and  she  took  less  care  to 
avoid  Keith  Macleod  in  her  daily  v/alks  and  ways.  There  was 
at  last  quite  a  good  understanding  between  them,  as  the  people 
around  imao-incd. 


320  iiACLKOU    OF    UAUE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

AFRAID. 

But  the  very  first  thing  slie  did  on  reaching  home  again  was 
to  write  to  Macleod  begging  him  to  postpone  his  visit  to  London. 
What  was  the  use?  The  company  of  which  she  fonnrcd  a' part 
was  most  probably  going  on  an  autumn  tour;  she  was  personally 
very  busy.  Surely  it  would  not  mucli  interest  him  to  be  present 
at  the  production  of  a  new  piece  in  Liverpool  ? 

And  then  slie  pointed  out  to  liim  that,  as  she  had  her  duties 
and  occupations,  so  ought  he  to  have.  It  was  monstrous  his 
thought  of  foregoing  the  shooting  that  year.  Whv,  if  he  wanted 
some  additional  motive,  what  did  he  say  to  preserving  as  much 
grouse-plumage  as  would  trim  a  cloak  for  her?  It  was  a  great 
pity  that  the  skins  of  so  beautiful  a  bird  should  be  thrown  away. 
And  slie  desired  him  to  present  her  kind  regards  to  Lady  Macleod 
and  to  Miss  Macleod ;  and  to  thank  them  both  for  their  great 
kindness. 

Immediately  after  writing  that  letter  Miss  "White  seemed  to 
grow  very  light-hearted  indeed,  and  she  laughed  and  chatted  with 
Carry,  and  was  exceedingly  affectionate  toward  her  sister. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  your  own  home  now,  Gerty?" 
said  Miss  Carry,  who  had  been  making  some  small  experiments 
in  arrangement. 

"You  mean,  after  my  being  among  the  savages?"  said  she. 
"Ah,  it  is  too  true,  Carry.  I  have  seen  them  in  their  war-paint ; 
and  I  have  shuddered  at  their  spears ;  and  I  have  made  voyages 
in  their  canoes.  But  it  is  worth  while  going  anywhere  and  do- 
ing anything  in  order  to  come  back  and  experience  such  a  sense 
of  relief  and  quiet.  Oh,  what  a  delicious  cushion  !  where  did  yon 
get  it,  Carry  ?" 

She  sank  back  in  the  rocking-chair  out  on  this  shaded  veranda. 
It  was  the  slumbering  noontide  of  a  July  day;  the  foliage  above 
and  about  the  Regent's  Canal  hung  motionless  in  tlm  still  sun- 
light ;  and  there  was  a  perfume  of  roses  in  the  air.     Here,  at  last, 


AFRAID.  321 


was  repose.  She  had  said  that  her  iiolluii  of  happiness  was  to 
bo  k-t  alone;  and — now  that  slie  liad  despatched  that  forbidding 
letter — she  would  be  able  to  enjoy  a  quiet  and  languor  free  from 


care. 


Aha,  Gerty,  don't  you  know  V  said  the  younger  sister. 
"  Well,  I  suppose,  you  poor  creature,  you  don't  know — you  have 
been  among  the  tigers  and  crocodiles  so  long.  That  cushion  is 
a  present  from  Mr.  Lemuel  to  mo — to  me,  mind,  not  to  you — 
and  he  brought  it  all  the  way  from  Damascus  some  years  ago. 
Oh,  Gerty,  if  I  was  only  three  years  older,  shouldn't  I  like  to  bo 
your  rival,  and  have  a  tight  with  you  for  him !" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  !"  said  the  elder  sister,  sharply. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  !  Poor,  innocent  thing  !  AVell,  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  quarrel  with  you  this  time,  for  at  last  you  are  showing 
some  sense.  How  vou  ever  could  have  thouoht  of  Mr.  Ilowson, 
or  Mr.  Brook,  or — you  know  whom — I  never  could  imagine ;  but 
liere  is  some  one  now  whom  people  have  heard  of — some  one 
with  fame  like  yourself — who  will  understand  you.  Oh,  Gerty, 
hasn't  he  lovely  eyes  ?" 

"Like  a  gazelle,"  said  the  other.     "You  know  what  Mr. 

said — that  he  never  met  the  appealing  look  of  Mr.  Lemuel's  eyes 
without  feeling  in  his  pockets  for  a  biscuit." 

"  He  wouldn't  say  anything  like  that  about  you,  Gerty,"  Carry 
said,  reproachfully. 

"  Who  wouldn't  ?" 

"  Mr.  Lemuel." 

"  Oh,  Carry  !  don't  you  understand  that  I  am  so  glad  to  be  al- 
lowed to  talk  nonsense  ?  I  have  been  all  strung  up  lately — like 
the  string  of  a  violin.  Everything  au  grand  serieuz.  I  want  to 
be  idle,  and  to  chat,  and  to  talk  nonsense.  Wliere  did  you  get 
that  bunch  of  stephanotis?" 

"  Mr.  Lemuel  brought  it  last  evening.  He  knew  you  were 
coming  home  to-day.  Oh,  Gerty,  do  you  know  I  have  seen  your 
portrait,  though  it  isn't  finished  yet ;  and  you  look — you  look 
like  an  inspired  prophetess.     I  never  saw  anything  so  lovely!" 

"  Indeed !"  said  Miss  White,  with  a  smile  ;  but  she  was  pleased. 

"When  the  public  see  that,  they  will  know  what  you  are  really 
like,  Gerty — instead  of  buying  your  photograph  in  a  shop  from 
a  collection  of  ballet-dancers  and  circus  women.  That  is  where 
you  ought  to  be — in  the  Royal  Academy :  not  in  a  shop-window 

14^- 


322  MACLEOD    OF    T)ARE. 

with  any  mountebank.  Oh,  Gerty,  do  you  know  wlio  is  your 
ijitest  rival  in  the  stationers'  windows?  The  woman  who  dresses 
herself  as  a  mermaid  and  swims  in  a  transparent  tank,  below  wa- 
ter— Fiu-fin  they  call  her.  I  suppose  you  have  not  been  reading 
the  newspapers  ?" 

"  Not  much." 

''  There  is  a  tine  collection  for  you  up-stairs.  And  there  is  an 
article  about  you  in  the  Islincjton  Young  Mot's  Improvement  As- 
sociation. It  is  signed  Trismegistus.  Oh,  it  is  beautiful,  Gerty 
— quite  full  of  poetry  !  It  says  you  are  an  enchantress  striking 
the  rockiest  heart,  and  a  Avell  of  pure  emotion  springs  up.  It  says 
you  have  the  beauty  uf  Mrs.  Siddons  and  the  genius  of  Rachel.*' 

"Dear  me!" 

"Ah,  you  dou'thalf  believe  in  yourself,  Gerty,"  said  the  young- 
er sister,  with  a  critical  air.  "  It  is  the  weak  point  about  you. 
You  depreciate  yourself,  and  you  make  light  of  other  people's 
belief  in  you.  However,  you  can't  go  against  your  own  genius. 
That  is  too  strong  for  you.  As  soon  as  you  get  on  the  stage, 
then  you  forget  to  laugh  at  yourself." 

"Really,  Carry,  has  papa  been  giving  you  a  lecture  about  me?" 

"Oh,  laugh  away!  but  you  know  it  is  true.  And  a  woman 
like  you — you  were  going  to  throw  yourself  away  on  a — " 

"  Carry  !  There  are  some  things  that  are  better  not  talked 
about,"  said  Gertrude  White,  curtly,  as  she  rose  and  went  in- 
doors. 

Miss  White  betook  herself  to  her  professional  and  domestic 
duties  with  much  alacrity  and  content,  for  she  believed  that  by 
her  skill  as  a  letter-writer  she  could  easily  ward  off  the  importu- 
nities of  her  too  passionate  lover.  It  is  true  that  at  times,  and 
in  despite  of  her  playful  evasion,  she  was  visited  by  a  strange 
dread.  However  far  away,  the  cry  of  a  strong  man  in  his  agony 
has  something  terrible  in  it.  And  what  was  this  he  wrote  to  her 
in  simple  and  calm  words? — 

"Are  our  paths  diverging,  Gerty?  and  if  that  is  so,  what  will 
be  the  end  of  it  for  me  and  for  you?  Are  you  going  away  from 
me?  After  all  that  has  passed,  are  we  to  be  separated  in  the  fut- 
ure, and  you  will  go  one  way  and  I  must  go  the  other  way,  with 
all  the  world  between  us,  so  that  I  shall  never  see  you  again  ? 
Why  will  you  not  speak?  You  hint  of  lingering  doubts  and  hes- 
itations.    Why  have  you  not  the  courage  to  be  true  to  yourself 


AFKAID.  323 

— to  be  true  to  your  woman's  heart— to  take  your  life  in  your 
own  liands,  and  shape  it  so  that  it  shall  be  worthy  of  you  ?" 

Well,  she  did  speak,  in  answer  to  this  piteous  prayer.  She  was 
a  skilful  letter-writer : 

"  It  may  seem  very  ungrateful  in  an  actress,  you  know,  dear 
Keith,  to  contest  the  truth  of  anything  said  by  Shakspcare ;  but 
I  don't  think,  with  all  humility,  there  ever  was  so  much  nonsense 
put  into  so  small  a  space  as  there  is  in  these  lines  that  everybody 

quotes  at  your  head — 

'  To  thine  own  self  be  true ; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man.' 

'  Be  true  to  yourself,'  people  say  to  you.  But  surely  every  one 
who  is  conscious  of  failings,  and  deceitfulness,  and  unworthy  in- 
stincts, would  rather  try  to  be  a  little  better  than  himself?  Where 
else  would  there  be  any  improvement,  in  an  individual  or  in  soci- 
ety ?  You  have  to  fight  against  yourself,  instead  of  blindly  yield- 
ing to  your  wish  of  the  moment.  I  know  I,  for  one,  should  not 
like  to  trust  myself.  I  wish  to  be  better  than  I  am — to  be  other 
than  I  am — and  I  naturally  look  around  for  help  and  guidance. 
Then,  you  find  people  recommending  you  absolutely  diverse  ways 
of  life,  and  with  all  show  of  authority  and  reason,  too ;  and  in 
such  an  important  matter  ought  not  one  to  consider  before  mak- 
ing a  final  choice  ?" 

Miss  White's  studies  in  mental  and  moral  science,  as  will  read- 
ily be  perceived,  had  not  been  of  a  profound  character.  But  he 
did  not  stay  to  detect  the  obvious  fallacy  of  her  argument.  It 
was  all  a  maze  of  words  to  him.  The  drowning  man  does  not 
hear  questions  addressed  to  bira.  He  only  knows  that  the  waters 
ax'e  closing  over  him,  and  that  there  is  no  arm  stretched  out  to 
save. 

"  I  do  not  know  myself  for  two  minutes  together,"  she  wrote. 
■ '  What  is  my  present  mood,  for  example  ?  Why,  one  of  absolute 
and  ungovernable  hatred — hatred  of  the  woman  who  would  take 
my  place  if  I  were  to  retire  from  the  stage.  I  have  been  think- 
ing of  it  all  the  morning — picturing  myself  as  an  unknown  non- 
entity, vanished  from  the  eyes  of  the  public,  in  a  social  grave. 
And  I  have  to  listen  to  people  praising  the  new  actress;  and  I 
have  to  read  columns  about  her  in  the  papers ;  and  I  am  unable 
to  say, '  Why,  all  that  and  more  was  written  and  said  about  me  1' 


324  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"What  has  an  actress  to  show  for  herself  if  once  slie  leaves  the 
stage?  People  forget  her  the  next  day ;  no  record  is  kept  of  her 
triumphs.  A  painter,  now,  who  spends  years  of  his  life  in  earnest 
study — it  does  not  matter  to  him  whether  the  public  applaud  or 
not,  whether  they  forget  or  not.  He  lias  always  before  him  these 
evidences  of  his  genius;  and  among  his  friends  he  can  choose  his 
tit  audience.  Even  when  he  is  an  old  man,  and  listening  to  the 
praises  of  all  the  young  fellows  who  have  caught  the  taste  of  the 
public,  lie  can,  at  all  events,  show  something  of  his  work  as  testi- 
mony of  what  he  was.  But  an  actress,  the  moment  she  leaves 
the  stage,  is  a  snuffed-out  candle.  She  has  her  stage-dresses  to 
prove  that  she  acted  certain  parts ;  and  she  may  have  a  scrap- 
book  v,ith  cuttings  of  criticisms  from  the  provincial  papers ! 
You  know,  dear  Keith,  all  this  is  very  heart-sickening ;  and  I  am 
quite  aware  that  it  will  trouble  you,  as  it  troubles  me,  and  some- 
times makes  me  ashamed  of  myself ;  but  then  it  is  true,  and  it  is 
better  for  both  of  us  that  it  should  be  known.  I  could  not  un- 
dertake to  be  a  hypocrite  all  my  life.  I  must  confess  to  you, 
whatever  be  the  consequences,  that  I  distinctly  made  a  mistake 
when  I  thought  it  was  such  an  easy  thing  to  adopt  a  whole  new 
set  of  opinions  and  tastes  and  habits.  The  old  Adam,  as  your 
Scotch  ministers  would  say,  keeps  coming  back,  to  jog  my  elbow 
as  an  old  familiar  friend.  And  you  would  not  have  me  conceal 
the  fact  from  you  ?  I  know  how  difficult  it  will  be  for  you  to  un- 
derstand or  sympathize  with  me.  You  have  never  been  brought 
lip  to  a  profession,  every  inch  of  your  progress  in  which  you  have 
to  contest  against  rivals ;  and  you  don't  know  how  jealous  one  is 
of  one's  position  Avhen  it  is  gained.  I  think  I  would  rather  be 
made  an  old  woman  of  sixty  to-morrow  morning,  than  get  up  and 
go  out  and  find  my  name  printed  in  small  letters  in  the  theatre- 
bills.  And  if  I  try  to  imagine  what  my  feelings  would  be  if  I 
were  to  retire  from  the  stage,  surely  that  is  in  your  interest  as 
well  as  mine.  How  would  you  like  to  be  tied  for  life  to  a  per- 
son who  was  continually  looking  back  to  her  past  career  with  re- 
gret, and  who  was  continually  looking  around  her  for  objects  of 
jealous  and  envious  anger?  Really,  I  try  to  do  my  duty  by  ev- 
erybody. x\ll  the  time  I  was  at  Castle  Dare  I  tried  to  picture 
myself  living  there,  and  taking  an  interest  in  the  fishing,  and  the 
farms,  and  so  on  ;  and  if  I  was  haunted  by  the  dread  that,  instead 
of  thinking  about  the  fishing  and  the  farms,  I  should  be  thinking 


AFRAID,  325 

of  tlie  triuinplis  of  the  actress  wlio  bad  taken  my  place  in  the  at- 
tention of  the  public,  I  had  to  recognize  the  fact.  It  is  wretched 
and  pitiable,  no  doubt ;  but  look  at  my  training.  If  you  tell  me 
to  be  true  to  myself — that  is  myself.  And  at  all  events  I  feel 
more  contented  that  I  have  made  a  frank  confession." 

Surely  it  was  a  fair  and  reasonable  letter  ?  But  the  answer 
that  came  to  it  had  none  of  its  pleasant  common-sense.  It  was 
all  a  wild  appeal — a  calling  on  her  not  to  fall  away  from  the  re- 
solves she  had  made — not  to  yield  to  those  despondent  moods. 
There  was  but  the  one  way  to  get  rid  of  her  doubts  and  hesita- 
tions; let  her  at  once  cast  aside  the  theatre,  and  all  its  associa- 
tions and  malign  inlluences,  and  become  his  wife,  and  he  would 
take  her  by  the  hand  and  lead  her  away  from  that  besetting 
temptation.  Could  she  forget  the  day  on  which  she  gave  him 
the  red  rose  ?     She  was  a  woman  ;  she  could  not  forget. 

She  folded  up  the  letter  and  held  it  in  her  hand,  and  went  into 
her  father's  room.  There  was  a  certain  petulant  and  irritated 
look  on  her  face. 

"  He  says  he  is  coming  up  to  London,  papa,"  said  she,  abruptly. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Sir  Keith  Macleod,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  of  course.  And  can  you  imagine  anything  more  pro- 
voking— just  at  present,  when  we  are  rehearsing  this  new  play, 
and  when  all  the  time  I  can  afford  Mr.  Lemuel  wants  for  the  por- 
trait? I  declare  the  only  time  I  feel  quiet,  secure,  safe  from  the 
interference  of  anybody,  and  more  especially  the  worry  of  the 
postman,  is  when  I  am  liaving  that  portrait  painted ;  the  intense 
stillness  of  the  studio  is  deliixhtful,  and  you  have  beautiful  thinirs 
all  around  you.  As  soon  as  I  open  the  door,  I  come  out  into  the 
world  again,  with  constant  vexations  and  apprehensions  all  around. 
AVhy,  I  don't  know  but  that  at  any  minute  Sir  Keith  Macleod 
may  not  come  walking  up  to  the  gate !" 

"And  why  should  that  possibility  keep  you  in  terror?"  said 
her  father,  calmly. 

"  "Well,  not  in  terror,"  said  she,  looking  down,  "  but — but  anx- 
iety, at  least ;  and  a  very  great  deal  of  anxiety.  Because  I  know 
he  will  want  explanations,  and  promises,  and  I  don't  know  what 
— just  at  the  time  I  am  most  worried  and  unsettled  about  every- 
thing I  mean  to  do." 

Her  father  regarded  her  for  a  second  or  two. 

"Well?"  said  he. 


320  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"Isn't  that  enonoh?"  she  said,  with  some  iiidiijnation. 

"  Oh,"  said  lie,  coldly,  "  you  have  merely  come  to  me  to  pour 
out  your  tale  of  wrono-s.  You  don't  want  me  to  interfere,  I  sup- 
pose.    Am  I  to  condole  with  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  Icnow  why  you  should  speak  to  me  like  that,  at  all 
events,"  said  she. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  he  responded,  in  the  same  cool,  mat- 
ter-of-fact way.  "  When  you  told  me  you  meant  to  give  up  the 
theatre  and  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  my  answer  was  that  you 
were  Ir^ely  to  make  a  mistake.  I  thought  you  were  a  fool  to 
throw  away  your  position  as  an  actress ;  but  I  did  not  urge  the 
point.  I  merely  left  the  matter  in  your  own  hands.  Well,  you 
went  your  own  way.  For  a  time  your  head  was  filled  with 
romance — Highland  chieftains,  and  gillies,  and  red-deer,  and  ba- 
ronial halls,  and  all  that  stuff;  and  no  doubt  you  persuaded  that 
young  man  that  you  believed  in  the  whole  thing  fervently,  and 
there  was  no  end  to  the  names  you  called  theatres  and  everybody 
connected  with  them.  Not  only  that,  but  you  must  needs  drag 
me  up  to  the  Highlands  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  number  of  strangers 
with  whom  both  you  and  I  lived  on  terms  of  apparent  hospitality 
and  good-will,  but  in  reality  on  terms  of  very  great  restraint.  Very 
well.  You  begin  to  discover  that  your  romance  was  a  little  bit 
removed  from  the  actual  state  of  affairs — at  least,  you  say  so — " 

"  I  say  so !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Hear  me  out,"  the  father  said,  patiently.  "  I  don't  want  to 
offend  you,  Gerty,  but  I  wish  to  speak  plainly.  You  liave  an 
amazing  faculty  for  making  yourself  believe  anything  that  suits 
you.  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  but  that  you  have  persuaded 
yourself  that  the  change  in  your  manner  toward  Keith  Macleod 
Avas  owing  to  your  discovering  that  their  way  of  life  was  differ- 
ent from  Avhat  you  expected;  or  perhaps  that  you  still  had  a 
lingering  fancy  for  the  stage  —  anything  you  like,  I  say  you 
could  make  yourself  believe  anything.  But  I  must  point  out  to 
you  that  any  acquaintance  of  yours — an  outsider — would  prob- 
ably look  on  the  marked  attentions  Mr.  Lemuel  has  been  paying 
you ;  and  on  your  sudden  conversion  to  the  art-theories  of  him- 
self and  his  friends  ;  and  on  the  revival  of  your  ambitious  notions 
about  tragedy — " 

"  You  need  say  no  more,"  said  she,  with  her  face  grown  quickly 
red,  and  with  a  certain  proud  impatience  in  her  look. 


AFRAID.  327 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  I  mean  to  say  more,"  lier  father  said,  quietly, 
"unless  you  -vvisli  to  leave  tlie  room.  I  mean  to  say  this — that 
when  you  have  persuaded  yourself  somehow  that  you  would 
rather  reconsider  your  promise  to  Sir  Keith  Macleod — ani  I  right  ? 
— that  it  does  seem  rather  hard  that  you  should  grow  ill-tempered 
with  him  and  accuse  him  of  being  the  author  of  your  troubles 
and  vexations.  I  am  no  great  friend  of  his — I  disliked  his  com- 
ing here  at  the  outset ;  but  I  will  say  he  is  a  manly  young  fellow, 
and  I  know  he  would  not  try  to  throw  the  blame  of  any  change 
in  his  own  sentiments  on  to  some  one  else.  And  another  thing 
I  mean  to  say  is — that  your  playing  the  part  of  the  injured  Gri- 
selda  is  not  quite  becoming,  Gerty  :  at  all  events,  I  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  it.  If  you  come  and  tell  me  frankly  that  you  have 
grown  tired  of  Macleod,  and  wish  somehow  to  break  your  promise 
to  him,  then  I  can  advise  you." 

"And  what  would  you  advise,  then,"  said  she,  with  equal  calm- 
ness, "  supposing  that  you  choose  to  throw  all  the  blame  on  me." 

"I  would  say  that  it  is  a  woman's  privilege  to  be  allowed  to 
change  her  mind  ;  and  that  the  sooner  you  told  him  so  the 
better." 

»"  Very  simple  !"  she  said,  with  a  flavor  of  sarcasm  in  her  tone. 
"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  man  as  I  know  him." 

"  Then  you  are  afraid  of  him  ?" 

She  was  silent. 

"These  are  certainly  strange  relations  between  two  people  who 
talk  of  getting  married.  But,  in  any  case,  he  cannot  suffocate 
you  in  a  cave,  for  you  live  in  London ;  and  in  London  it  is  only 
an  occasional  young  man  about  Shoreditch  who  smashes  his 
sweetheart  with  a  poker  when  she  proposes  to  marry  somebody 
else.  He  might,  it  is  true,  summon  you  for  breach  of  promise; 
but  he  would  prefer  not  to  be  laughed  at.  Come,  come,  Gerty, 
get  rid  of  all  this  nonsense.  Tell  him  frankly  the  position,  and 
don't  come  bothering  me  with  pretend.-d  wrongs  and  injuries." 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  tell  him  ?"  said  she,  slowly. 

"  Certainly." 

She  went  away  and  wrote  to  Macleod ;  but  she  did  not  wholly 
explain  her  position.  She  only  begged  once  more  for  time  to 
consider  her  own  feelings.  It  would  be  better  that  he  should 
not  come  just  now  to  London.  And  if  she  were  convinced,  after 
honest  and  earnest  questioning  of  herself,  that  she  had  not  the 


328  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

coiirairo  and  strength  of  mind  necessary  for  the  ijreat  clianfjc  in 
ber  life  she  Lad  proposed,  would  it  not  be  better  fur  Lis  Lappi- 
ness  and  hers  tLat  the  confession  should  be  made  ? 

Macleod  did  not  answer  that  letter,  and  she  grew  alarmed. 
Several  days  elapsed.  One  afternoon,  coming  home  from  re- 
hearsal, she  saw  a  card  lying  on  the  tray  on  the  hall-table. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  with  her  face  somewhat  paler  than  usual, 
"  Sir  Keith  Macleod  is  in  London !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A    CLIMAX. 


She  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room.  She  heard  tbe  bell  ring, 
and  the  sound  of  some  one  being  let  in  by  the  front  door.  Then 
there  was  a  man's  step  in  the  passage  outside.  The  craven  heart 
grew  still  with  dread. 

But  it  was  with  a  great  gentleness  that  be  came  forward  to 
lier,  and  took  both  of  her  trembling  hands,  and  said, 

"  Gerty,  you  do  not  think  that  I  have  come  to  be  angry  with 
you — not  that !" 

He  could  not  but  see  with  tbose  anxious,  pained,  tender  eyes 
of  his  that  she  was  very  pale  ;  and  her  heart  was  now  beating  so 
fast — after  the  first  shock  of  fright — that  for  a  second  or  two 
she  could  not  answer  him.  She  withdrew  her  hands.  And  all 
this  time  he  was  regarding  her  face  with  an  eager,  wistful  in- 
tensity. 

"  It  is — so  strange — for  me  to  see  you  again,"  said  he,  almost 
in  a  bewildered  way.  "  The  days  have  been  very  long  without 
you — I  had  almost  forgotten  what  you  were  like.  And  now — 
and  now — oh,  Gerty,  you  are  not  angry  with  rue  for  troubling 
you  ?" 

She  withdrew  a  step  and  sat  down. 

"  There  is  a  chair,"  said  she.  He  did  not  seem  to  understand 
what  she  meant.  He  was  trying  to  read  her  thoughts  in  her 
eyes,  in  her  manner,  in  the  pale  face  ;  and  his  earnest  gaze  did 
not  leave  her  for  a  moment. 

"I  know  you  must  be  greatly  troubled  and  worried,  Gerty; 
and — and  I  tried  not  to  come ;  but  your  last  letter  was  like  the 


A    CLIMAX.  329 

end  of  the  world  for  mc.  I  thought  everything  might  go  then. 
But  then  I  said,  'Are  you  a  man,  and  to  be  cast  down  by  that? 
She  is  bewildered  by  some  passing  doubt;  her  mind  is  sick  for 
the  moment ;  you  must  go  to  her,  and  recall  her,  and  awake  her 
to  herself ;  and  you  will  see  her  laugh  again  !'  And  so  I  am 
here,  Gerty;  and  if  I  am  troubling  you  at  a  bad  time — well,  it  is 
only  for  a  moment  or  two;  and  you  will  not  mind  that?  You 
and  I  are  so  different,  Gerty  1  You  are  all-perfect.  You  do  not 
want  the  sympathy  of  any  one.  You  are  satisfied  with  your  own 
thinkings ;  you  are  a  world  to  yourself.  But  I  cannot  live  with- 
out being  in  sympathy  with  you.  It  is  a  craving — it  is  like  a 
lire —     Well,  I  did  not  come  here  to  talk  about  myself." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  took  so  much  trouble,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice — and  there  was  a  nervous  restraint  in  her  manner.  "  You 
might  have  answered  my  letter,  instead." 

"  Your  letter  1"  he  exclaimed.  "  Why,  Gerty,  I  could  not  talk 
to  the  letter.  It  was  not  yourself.  It  was  no  more  part  of 
yourself  than  a  glove.  You  will  forget  that  letter — and  all  the 
letters  that  ever  you  wrote ;  let  them  go  away  like  the  leaves  of 
former  autumns  that  are  quite  forgotten ;  and  instead  of  the  let- 
ters, be  yoursclf-^as  I  see  you  now — proud-spirited  and  noble — 
my  beautiful  Gerty — my  wife  !" 

He  made  a  step  forward  and  caught  her  hand.  She  did  not 
see  that  there  were  sudden  tears  in  the  imploring  eyes.  She 
only  knew  that  this  vehemence  seemed  to  suffocate  her. 

"Keith,"  said  she,  and  she  gently  disengaged  her  hand,  "will 
you  sit  down,  and  we  can  talk  over  this  matter  calmly,  if  you 
please  ;  but  I  think  it  would  have  been  better  if  you  left  us  both 
to  explain  ourselves  in  writing.  It  is  difficult  to  say  certain 
things  without  giving  pain — and  you  know  I  don't  wish  to  do 
that—" 

"  I  know,"  said  he,  with  an  absent  look  on  his  face ;  and  ho 
took  the  chair  she  had  indicated,  and  sat  down  beside  her ;  and 
now  he  was  no  longer  regarding  her  eyes. 

"It  is  quite  true  that  you  and  I  are  different,"  said  she, with  a 
certain  resolution  in  her  tone,  as  if  she  was  determined  to  get 
through  with  a  painful  task — "  very  seriously  different  in  every- 
thing— in  our  natures,  and  habits,  and  opinions,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  How  we  ever  became  acquainted  I  don't  know ;  I  am 
afraid  it  was  not  a  fortunate  accident  for  cither  of  us.     "Well — " 


330  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Here  she  stopped.  She  had  not  prepared  any  speech ;  and 
she  suddenly  foimd  herself  without  a  word  to  sa;r,  when  words, 
words,  words  were  all  slic  eagerly  wanted  in  order  to  cover  her 
retreat.  And  as  for  him,  he  gave  her  no  lielp.  lie  sat  silent — 
his  eves  downcast — a  tired  and  hasr^ard  look  on  his  face. 

"  Well,"  she  resumed,  with  a  violent  effort,  "  I  was  saying, 
perhaps  we  made  a  mistake  in  our  estimates  of  each  other.  That 
is  a  very  common  thing;  and  sometimes  people  find  out  in  time, 
and  sometimes  they  don't.     I  am  sure  you  agree  with  me,  Keith  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Gerty,"  he  answered,  absently. 

''And  then  —  and  then  —  I  am  quite  ready  to  confess  that  I 
may  have  been  mistaken  about  myself;  and  I  am  afraid  you  en- 
couraged the  mistake.  You  know,  I  am  quite  sure,  I  am  not  the 
heroic  person  you  tried  to  make  me  believe  I  was.  I  have  found 
myself  out,  Keith ;  and  just  in  time  before  making  a  terrible 
blunder.  I  am  very  glad  that  it  is  myself  I  have  to  blame.  I 
have  got  very  little  resolution.  'Unstable  as  water' — that  is  the 
phrase :  perhaps  I  should  not  like  other  people  to  apply  it  to 
me;  but  I  am  quite  ready  to  apply  it  to  myself;  for  I  know  it 
to  be  true ;  and  it  would  be  a  great  pity  if  any  one's  life  were 
made  miserable  through  my  fault.  Of  course,  I  tliought  for  a 
time  that  I  was  a  very  courageous  and  I'csolute  person — you  flat- 
tered me  into  believing  it ;  but  I  have  found  myself  out  since. 
Don't  you  understand,  Keith  ?" 

lie  gave  a  sign  of  assent ;  his  silence  was  more  embarrassing 
than  any  protest  or  any  appeal. 

"  Oh,  I  could  choose  such  a  wife  for  you,  Keith  ! — a  wife  wor- 
thy of  you — a  woman  as  womanly  as  you  are  manly ;  and  I  can 
think  of  her  being  proud  to  be  your  wife,  and  how  all  the  people 
wlio  came  to  your  house  would  admire  her  and  love  her — " 

He  looked  up  in  a  bewildered  wa}^ 

"  Gerty,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  quite  know  what  it  is  you  are  speak- 
ing about.  You  are  speaking  as  if  some  strange  thing  had  come 
between  us ;  and  I  was  to  go  one  way,  and  you  another,  through 
all  the  years  to  come.  Why,  that  is  all  nonsense  !  See  !  I  can 
take  your  hand — that  is  the  hand  that  gave  me  the  red  rose. 
You  said  you  loved  me,  then ;  you  cannot  have  changed  already. 
I  have  not  changed.  AVhat  is  there  that  would  try  to  separate 
us?  Only  words,  Gerty  ! — a  cloud  of  words  humming  round  the 
cars  and  confusing  onel     Oh,  I  have  grown  heart-sick  of  them  in 


A    CLIMAX.  331 

your  letters,  Gerty  ;  until  I  put  the  letters  away  altogetlier,  aud  I 
said, '  They  arc  no  more  than  the  leaves  of  last  autiunn  :  'when  I 
see  Gorty,  and  take  her  hand,  all  the  words  will  disappear  then.' 
Your  hand  is  not  made  of  words,  Gerty ;  it  is  warm,  and  kind, 
and  gentle — it  is  a  woman's  hand.  Do  you  think  words  are  able 
to  make  me  let  go  my  grasp  of  it?  I  put  them  away — I  do  not 
hear  any  more  of  them.  I  only  know  that  you  are  beside  mo, 
Gerty  ;  and  I  hold  your  hand  !" 

He  was  now  no  longer  the  imploring  lover :  there  was  a  strange 
elation,  a  sort  of  triumph,  in  his  tone. 

"  Why,  Gerty,  do  you  know  Avhy  I  have  come  to  London  ?  It 
is  to  carry  you  off — not  with  the  pipes  yelling  to  drown  your 
screams,  as  Flora  Macdonald's  mother  was  carried  off  by  her  lov- 
er, but  taking  you  by  the  hand,  and  waiting  for  the  smile  on  your 
face.  That  is  the  way  out  of  all  our  troubles,  Gerty  :  we  shall  be 
plagued  with  no  more  words  then.  Oh,  I  understand  it  all,  sweet- 
heart—  your  doubts  of  yourself,  and  your  thinking  about  the 
stage :  it  is  all  a  return  of  the  old  and  evil  influences  that  you 
and  I  thought  had  been  shaken  off  forever.  Perhaps  that  was  a 
little  mistake;  but  no  matter.  You  ■will  shake  them  off  now, 
Gerty.  You  will  show  yourself  to  have  the  courage  of  a  woman. 
It  is  but  one  step,  and  you  are  free !  Gerty,"  said  he,  with  a 
smile  on  his  face,  "do  you  know  what  that  is?" 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  printed  document,  and  opened  it. 
Certain  words  there  that  caught  her  eye  caused  her  to  turn  even 
paler  than  she  had  been ;  and  slie  would  not  even  touch  the  pa- 
per.    He  put  it  back. 

"Are  you  frightened,  sweetheart?  No!  You  will  take  this 
one  step,  and  you  will  see  how  all  those  fancies  and  doubts  will 
disappear  forever!  Oh,  Gerty,  when  I  got  this  paper  into  my 
pocket  to-day,  and  came  out  into  the  street,  I  was  laughing  to 
myself;  and  a  poor  woman  said,  'You  are  very  merry,  sir;  will 
you  give  a  poor  old  woman  a  copper?'  '  Well,'  I  said, '  here  is  a 
sovereign  for  you,  and  perhaps  you  will  be  merry  too?' — and  I 
would  have  given  every  one  a  sovereign,  if  I  had  had  it  to  give. 
But  do  you  knoAV  Avhat  I  w\as  laughing  at? — I  was  laughing  to 
think  what  Captain  Macallum  would  do  when  you  went  on  board 
as  my  wife.  For  he  put  up  the  flags  for  you  when  you  were  only 
a  visitor  coming  to  Dare ;  but  when  I  take  you  by  the  hand,  Ger- 
ty, as  you  are  going  along  the  gangway,  and  when  avc  get  on  to 


332  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

the  paddle-box,  and  Captain  MaCidlum  comes  forward,  and  when 
I  tell  him  that  you  are  now  my  wife,  why,  he  will  not  know  what 
to  do  to  welcome  you  !  And  Ilamish,  too — I  think  Hamisli  will 
go  mad  that  day.  And  then,  sweetheart,  you  will  go  along  to 
Erraidh,  and  you  will  go  up  to  the  signal-house  on  the  rocks,  and 
we  will  fire  a  cannon  to  tell  the  men  at  Dubh-Artach  to  look  out. 
And  what  will  be  the  message  you  will  signal  to  them,  Gerty, 
with  the  great  white  boards?  Will  you  send  them  your  compli- 
ments, which  is  the  English  way  ?  Ah,  but  I  know  what  they 
will  answer  to  you.  They  will  answer  in  the  Gaelic ;  and  this 
will  be  the  answer  that  will  come  to  you  from  the  light-house — 
M  hundred  thousand  ivelcomes  to  the  young  bride T  And  you 
will  soon  learn  the  Gaelic,  too ;  and  you  will  get  used  to  our 
rough  ways;  and  you  will  no  longer  have  any  fear  of  the  sea. 
Some  day  you  will  get  so  used  to  us  that  you  will  think  the  very 
sea-birds  to  be  your  friends,  and  that  they  know  when  you  are 
going  away  and  when  you  are  coming  back,  and  that  they  know 
you  will  not  allow  any  one  to  shoot  at  them  or  steal  their  eggs 
in  the  spring-time.  But  if  you  would  rather  not  have  our  rough 
ways,  Gerty,  I  will  go  with  you  wherever  you  please — did  I  not 
say  that  to  you,  sweetheart  ?  There  are  many  fine  houses  in  Es- 
sex—  I  saw  them  when  I  went  down  to  Woodford  with  Major 
Stuart.  And  for  your  sake  I  would  give  up  the  sea  altogether; 
and  I  would  think  no  more  about  boats ;  and  I  would  go  to  Es- 
sex with  you  if  I  was  never  to  see  one  of  the  sea-birds  again. 
That  is  what  I  will  do  for  vour  sake,  Gertv,  if  a-ou  wish ;  thousxh 
I  thought  you  would  be  kind  to  the  poor  people  around  us  at 
Dare,  and  be  proud  of  their  love  for  you,  and  get  used  to  our 
homely  ways.  But  I  will  go  into  Essex,  if  you  like,  Gerty — so 
that  the  sea  shall  not  frighten  you  ;  and  you  will  never  be  asked 
to  go  into  one  of  our  rough  boats  any  more.  It  shall  be  just  as 
you  wish,  Gerty ;  whether  you  want  to  go  away  into  Essex,  or 
whether  you  will  come  away  with  me  to  the  North,  that  I  will 
say  to  Captain  Macallum,  *  Captain  Macallum,  what  will  you  do, 
now  that  the  English  lady  has  been  brave  enough  to  leave  her 
home  and  her  friends  to  live  with  us?  and  what  are  we  to  do 
now  to  show  that  we  are  proud  and  glad  of  her  coming?' " 

AVell,  tears  did  gather  in  her  eyes  as  she  listened  to  this  Avild, 
despairing  cry,  and  her  hands  were  working  nervously  with  a 
book  she  had  taken  from  the  table;  but  what  answer  could  she 


A    CLIMAX.  333 

make?  In  self- defence  au,'ainst  this  vehemence  she  ado|)ted  an 
injnved  air. 

"Really,  Keith,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice, "  you  do  not  seem  to 
pay  any  attention  to  anything  I  say  or  write.  Surely  I  liave  pre- 
pared you  to  understand  that  my  consent  to  what  you  propose  is 
quite  impossible — for  the  present,  at  least?  I  asked  for  time  to 
consider." 

"  I  know — I  know,"  said  lie.  "  You  would  wait,  and  let  those 
doubts  close  in  upon  you.  But  here  is  a  way  to  defeat  thein  all. 
Sweetheart,  why  do  you  not  rise  and  give  me  your  hand,  and  say 
'Yes?'     There  would  be  no  more  doubts  at  all !" 

"  Bat  surely,  Keith,  you  must  understand  me  when  I  say  that 
rushing  into  a  marriage  in  this  mad  way  is  a  very  dangerous 
thing.  You  won't  look  or  listen  to  anything  I  suggest.  And 
really — well,  I  think  you  should  have  some  little  consideration 
for  me — " 

He  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with  a  look  almost  of  wonder ; 
and  then  he  said,  hastily, 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Gerty ;  I  should  not  liave  been  so  self- 
ish. But — but  you  cannot  tell  how  I  have  suffered — all  through 
the  night-time,  thinking  and  thinking — and  saying  to  myself  that 
surely  you  could  not  be  going  away  from  me — and  in  the  morn- 
ing, oh !  the  emptiness  of  all  the  sea  and  the  sk}',  and  you  not 
there  to  be  asked  whether  you  would  go  out  to  Colonsay,  or 
round  to  Loch  Scridain,  or  go  to  see  the  rock-pigeons  fly  out  of 
the  caves.  It  is  not  a  long  time  since  you  were  with  us  Gerty ; 
but  to  me  it  seems  longer  than  half  a  dozen  of  winters;  for  in 
the  winter  I  said  to  myself,  'Ah,  well,  she  is  now  working  off  the 
term  of  her  imprisonment  in  the  theatre;  and  when  the  days  get 
long  again,  and  the  blue  skies  come  again,  she  will  use  the  first  of 
her  freedom  to  come  and  see  the  sea-birds  about  Dare.'  But  this 
last  time,  Gerty — well,  I  had  strange  doubts  and  misgivings ;  and 
sometimes  I  dreamed  in  the  night-time  that  3'ou  were  going  away 
from  me  altogether — on  board  a  ship — and  I  called  to  you  and 
you  would  not  even  turn  your  head.  Oh,  Gerty,  I  can  see  you 
now  as  you  were  then  —  your  head  turned  partly  aside ;  and 
strangers  round  you  ;  and  the  ship  was  going  farther  and  farther 
away;  and  if  I  jumped  into  the  sea,  how  could  I  overtake  you? 
But  at  least  the  waves  would  come  over  me,  and  I  should  have 
forgetfulness." 


334  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"Yes,  but  you  seem  to  think  that  my  letters  to  you  had  no 
meaning  whatever,"  said  she,  almost  petulantly,  "  Surely  I  tried 
to  explain  clearly  enough  what  our  relative  positions  were?" 

"You  had  got  back  to  the  influence  of  the  theatre,  Gerty — I 
would  not  believe  the  things  you  wrote.  I  said,  '  You  will  go 
now  and  rescue  her  from  herself.  She  is  only  a  girl ;  she  is  tim- 
id ;  she  believes  the  foolish  things  that  are  said  by  the  people 
around  her.'  And  then,  do  you  know,  sweetheart,"  said  he,  with 
a  sad  smile  on  his  face,  "I  thought  if  I  were  to  go  and  get  this 
paper,  and  suddenly  show  it  to  you — well,  it  is  not  the  old  ro- 
mantic way,  but  I  thought  you  would  frankly  say  'Yes!'  and  have 
an  end  of  all  this  pain.  Why,  Gerty,  you  have  been  many  a  ro- 
mantic heroine  in  the  theatre ;  and  you  know  they  are  not  long 
in  making  up  their  minds.  And  the  heroines  in  our  old  songs, 
too :  do  you  know  the  song  of  Lizzie  Lindsa}',  who  '  kilted  her 
coats  o'  green  satin,'  and  was  off  to  the  Highlands  before  any 
one  could  interfere  with  her?  That  is  the  waj'^  to  put  an  end 
to  doubts.  Gerty,  be  a  brave  woman !  Be  worthy  of  yourself ! 
Sweetheart,  have  you  the  courage  now  to  '  kilt  your  coats  o'  green 
satin?'  And  I  know  that  in  the  Highlands  you  will  have  as 
proud  a  welcome  as  ever  Lord  Eon  aid  Macdonald  gave  his  bride 
from  the  South." 

Then  the  strange  smile  went  away  from  his  face. 

"I  am  tiring  you,  Gerty,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  you  are  very  much  excited,  Keith,"  said  she  ;  "  and  you 
won't  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  I  think  your  coming  to  Lon- 
don was  a  mistake.  You  are  giving  both  of  us  a  great  deal  of 
pain  ;  and,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  to  no  purpose.  We  could  much 
better  have  arrived  at  a  proper  notion  of  each  other's  feelings  by 
writing  ;  and  the  matter  is  so  serious  as  to  require  consideration. 
If  it  is  the  business  of  a  heroine  to  plunge  two  people  into  life- 
long misery  without  thinking  twice  about  it,  then  I  am  not  a 
heroine.  Her  '  coats  o'  green  satin !' — I  should  like  to  know  what 
was  the  end  of  that  story.  jS"ow  really,  dear  Keith,  you  must 
bear  with  me  if  I  say  that  I  have  a  little  more  prudence  than 
you,  and  I  must  put  a  check  on  your  headstrong  wishes.  Now  I 
know  there  is  no  use  in  our  continuing  this  conversation :  you 
arc  too  anxious  and  eager  to  mind  anvthing  I  sav.  I  will  write 
to  you." 

"Gerty,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  I  know  you  are  not  a  selfish  or  cruel 


A    CLIMAX.  335 

woman;  and  I  do  not  think  you  would  willingly  pain  any  one. 
But  if  you  came  to  me  and  said,  'Answer  my  question,  for  it  is 
a  question  of  life  or  death  to  nic,'  I  should  not  answer  that  I 
would  write  a  letter  to  you." 

"  You  may  call  me  selfish,  if  you  like,"  said  she,  with  some 
show  of  temper,  "but  I  tell  you  once  for  all  that  I  cannot  beai 
the  fatigue  of  interviews  such  as  this,  and  I  think  it  was  very  in^ 
considerate  of  you  to  force  it  on  me.  And  as  for  answering-  a 
question,  the  position  we  are  in  is  not  to  be  explained  with  a 
'Yes'  or  a  'No' — it  is  mere  romance  and  folly  to  speak  of  peo- 
ple running  away  and  getting  married ;  for  I  suppose  that  is 
what  you  mean.  I  will  write  to  you,  if  you  like,  and  give  you 
every  explanation  in  my  power.  But  I  don't  think  we  shall  ar- 
rive at  any  better  understanding  by  your  accusing  me  of  selfish- 
ness or  cruelty." 

"  Gerty  1" 

"And  if  it  comes  to  that,"  she  continued,  with  a  flush  of  an- 
gry daring  in  her  face,  "  perhaps  I  could  bring  a  similar  charge 
against  you,  with  some  better  show  of  reason." 

"  That  I  was  ever  selfish  or  cruel  as  regards  you  !"  said  he, 
with  a  vague  wonder,  as  if  he  liad  not  heard  aright. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you,  then,"  said  she,  "  as  you  seem  bent  on  re- 
criminations ?  Perhaps  you  thought  I  did  not  understand  ? — that 
I  was  too  frightened  to  understand  ?     Oh,  I  knew  verv  well !" 

" I  don't  know  what  you  mean !"  said  he,  in  absolute  bev.il- 
derment. 

"  What ! — not  the  night  we  were  cauglit  in  the  storm  in  cross- 
ing to  lona  ? — and  when  I  clung  to  your  arm,  you  shook  me  off, 
so  that  you  should  be  free  to  strike  out  for  yourself  if  Ave  were 
thrown  into  the  water?  Oh,  I  don't  blame  you!  It  was  only 
natural.  But  I  think  you  should  be  cautious  in  accusing  others 
of  selfishness." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  at  her,  with  something  like 
fear  in  his  eyes — fear  and  horror,  and  a  doubt  as  to  whether 
this  thing  was  possible  ;  and  then  came  the  hopeless  cry  of  a 
breaking  heart — 

"Oh  God,  Gert.Yl  I  thought  you  loved  me — and  you  be- 
lieved tkatr 


336  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

DREAMS. 

This  long  and  terrible  night :  will  it  never  end  ?  Or  will  not 
life  itself  go  out,  and  let  the  sufferer  Lave  rest?  The  slow  and 
sleepless  hours  toil  through  the  darkness  ;  and  there  is  a  ticking 
of  a  clock  in  the  hushed  room  ;  and  this  agony  of  pain  still 
throbbing  and  throbbing  in  the  breaking  heart.  And  then,  as 
the  pale  dawn  shows  gray  in  the  windows,  the  anguish  of  de- 
spair follows  him  even  into  the  wan  realms  of  sleep,  and  there 
are  wild  visions  rising  before  the  sick  brain.  Strange  visions 
these  are  ;  the  confused  and  seething  phantasmagoria  of  a  shat- 
tered life ;  himself  regarding  himself  as  another  figure,  and  be- 
ginning to  pity  this  poor  wretch  who  is  not  permitted  to  die. 
"Poor  wretch — poor  wretch!"  he  says  to  himself.  "Did  they 
use  to  call  you  Macleod  ;  and  what  is  it  that  has  brought  you  to 

this?" 

******* 

See  now  !  He  lays  his  bead  down  on  the  warm  heather,  on 
this  beautiful  summer  day ;  and  the  seas  are  all  blue  around 
him  ;  and  the  sun  is  shining  on  the  white  sands  of  lona.  Far 
below,  the  men  are  singing  "i^/«V  a  bhata,''''  and  the  sea-birds  are 
softly  calling.  But  suddenly  there  is  a  horror  in  his  brain,  and 
the  day  grows  black,  for  an  adder  has  stung  him  ! — it  is  Righinn 
— the  Princess — the  Queen  of  Snakes.  Oh  why  does  she  laugh, 
and  look  at  him  so  with  that  clear,  cruel  look  ?  He  would  rather 
not  go  into  this  still  house  where  the  lidless-eyed  creatures  are 
lying  in  their  awful  sleep.  Why  does  she  laugh  ?  Is  it  a  mat- 
ter for  laughing  that  a  man  should  be  stung  by  an  adder,  and  all 
his  life  grow  black  around  him  ?  For  it  is  then  that  they  put 
him  in  a  grave  ;  and  she — she  stands  with  her  foot  on  it !  There 
is  moonlight  around ;  and  the  jackdaws  are  wheeling  overhead ; 
our  voices  sound  hollow  in  these  dark  ruins.  But  you  can  hear 
this,  sweetheart:  shall  I  whisper  it  to  you?     "J'om  are  standing 

on  the  grave  of  Macleod^ 

******* 


DREAMS. 


337 


Lo  !  tlie  grave  opens !  Why,  Ilamisb,  it  was  no  grave  at  all, 
but  only  the  long  winter ;  and  now  we  are  all  looking  at  a 
stranoe  tbino-  awav  in  tlie  south,  for  who  ever  saw  all  the  beau- 
tiful  flags  before  that  are  fluttering  there  in  the  summer  wind? 
Oh,  sweetheart ! — your  hand — give  me  your  small,  warm,  white 
hand  !  See  !  we  Avill  go  up  the  steep  path  by  the  rocks ;  and 
here  is  the  small  white  house  ;  and  have  you  never  seen  so  great 
a  telescope  before  ?  And  is  it  all  a  haze  of  heat  over  the  sea ;  or 
can  you  make  out  the  quivering  phantom  of  the  light-house — 
the  small  gray  thing  out  at  the  edge  of  the  world  ?  Look !  they 
are  signalling  now  ;  they  know  you  are  here  ;  come  out,  quick ! 
to  the  great  white  boards ;  and  we  will  send  them  over  a  mes- 
sage— and  you  will  see  that  they  will  send  back  a  thousand  wel- 
comes to  the  young  bride.  Our  ways  are  poor ;  we  have  no 
satin  bowers  to  show  you,  as  the  old  songs  say — but  do  you  know 
who  are  coming  to  wait  on  you  ?  The  beautiful  women  out  of 
the  old  songs  are  coming  to  be  your  handmaidens :  I  have  asked 
them — I  saw  them  in  many  dreams — I  spoke  gently  to  them, 
and  they  are  coming.  Do  you  see  them  ?  There  is  the  bonnie 
Lizzie  Lindsay,  who  kilted  her  coats  o'  green  satin  to  be  off  with 
young  Macdonald ;  and  Burd  Helen — she  will  come  to  you  pale 
and  beautiful ;  and  proud  Lady  Maisry,  that  was  burned  for  her 
true-love's  sake;  and  Mary  Scott  of  Yarrow,  that  set  all  men's 
hearts  aflame.  See,  they  will  take  you  by  the  hand.  They  are 
the  Queen's  Maries.  There  is  no  other  grandeur  at  Castle  Dare. 
*****  ^-  * 

Is  this  Macleod  ?  They  used  to  say  that  Macleod  was  a  man ! 
They  used  to  say  he  had  not  much  fear  of  anything ;  but  this  is 
only  a  poor  trembling  boy,  a  coward  trembling  at  everything,  and 
going  away  to  London  with  a  lie  on  his  lips.  And  they  know 
iiow  Sholto  Macleod  died,  and  how  Roderick  Macleod  died,  and 
Ronald,  and  Duncan  the  Fair-haired,  and  Hector,  but  the  last  of 
them — this  poor  wretch — what  will  they  say  of  him  ?  "  Oh,  he 
died  for  the  love  of  a  woman!"  She  struck  him  in  the  heart ; 
and  he  could  not  strike  back,  for  she  was  a  woman.  Ah,  but  if 
it  was  a  man  now  !  They  say  the  Macleods  are  all  become  sheep ; 
and  their  courage  has  gone ;  and  if  they  were  to  grasp  even  a 
Rose-leaf  they  could  not  crush  it.  It  is  dangerous  to  say  that ; 
do  not  trust  to  it.  Oh,  it  is  you,  you  poor  fool  in  the  newspaper, 
who  are  whirling  along  behind  the  boat  ?    Does  the  swivel  work  ? 

15 


338  MACLEOD    OF   DARE. 

Arc  the  sharks  after  you  ?  Do  you  hear  them  bciiind  you  cleav- 
ing the  water  ?  The  men  of  Dnbh-Artach  will  have  a  good  laugh 
^yhen  wo  whisk  you  past.  What !  you  beg  for  mercy  ? — come 
out,  then,  you  poor  devil !  Here  is  a  tarpaulin  for  you.  Give 
him  a  glass  of  whiskey,  John  Cameron.  And  so  you  know  about 
theatres;  and  perhaps  you  have  ambition,  too ;  and  there  is  noth- 
ing in  the  world  so  fine  as  people  clapping  their  liands?  But 
you — even  you — if  I  were  to  take  you  over  in  the  dark,  and  the 
storm  came  on,  you  would  not  think  that  I  thrust  you  aside  to 
look  after  myself  ?  You  are  a  stranger;  you  are  helpless  in  boats : 
do  you  think  I  would  thrust  you  aside  ?  It  was  not  fair — oh,  it 
was  not  fair !  If  she  wished  to  kill  my  heart,  there  were  other 
things  to  say  than  that.  Why,  sweetheart,  don't  you  know  that 
I  got  the  little  English  boy  out  of  the  water ;  and  you  think  I 
would  let  you  drown  !  If  we  were  both  drowning,  now,  do  you 
know  what  I  should  do?  I  should  laugh,  and  say,  "Sweetheart, 
sweetheart,  if  Ave  were  not  to  be  together  in  life,  we  are  now  in 
death,  and  that  is  enough  for  me." 

W'hat  is  the  slow,  sad  sound  that  one  hears?  The  grave  is  on 
the  lonely  island ;  there  is  no  one  left  on  the  island  now ;  there 
is  nothing  but  the  grave.  ''''Man  that  is  born  of  a  tooman  hath 
but  a  short  thne  to  live,  and  is  full  of  misery.''''  Oh  no,  not  that ! 
That  is  all  over ;  the  misery  is  over,  and  there  is  peace.  This  is 
the  sound  of  the  sea-birds,  and  the  wind  coming  over  the  seas, 
and  the  waves  on  the  rocks.  Or  is  it  Donald,  in  the  boat  going 
back  to  the  land  ?  The  people  have  their  heads  bent ;  it  is  a 
Lament  the  boy  is  playing.  And  how  will  you  play  the  Cum- 
hadh  na  Cloinne  to-night,  Donald  ? — and  what  will  the  mother 
say  ?  It  is  six  sons  she  has  to  think  of  now ;  and  Patrick  Mor 
had  but  seven  dead  when  he  wrote  the  Lament  of  the  Children. 
Janet,  see  to  her !  Tell  her  it  is  no  matter  now ;  the  peace  has 
come;  the  misery  is  over;  there  is  only  the  quiet  sound  of  the 
Avaves.  But  you,  Donald,  come  here.  Put  down  your  pipes,  and 
listen.  Do  you  remember  the  English  lady  who  was  here  in  the 
.summer-time ;  and  your  pipes  were  too  loud  for  her,  and  Avere 
taken  aAvay  ?  She  is  coming  again.  She  will  try  to  put  her  foot 
on  my  grave.  But  you  Avill  watch  for  her  coming,  Donald  ;  and 
you  will  go  quickly  to  Ilamish ;  and  Ilamish  will  go  doAvn  to 
the  shore  and  send  her  back.     You  are  only  a  boy,  Donald ;  she 


DREAMS.  339 

would  not  heed  you ;  and  the  ladies  at  the  Castle  arc  too  gentle, 
and  would  give  her  fair  words;  but  llamisli  is  not  afraid  of  her 
— he  will  drive  her  back ;  she  shall  not  put  her  foot  on  my  grave, 
for  my  heart  can  bear  no  more  pain. 

******* 

And  arc  you  going  away — Rose-leaf — Rose-leaf — arc  you  sail- 
ing away  from  me  on  the  smooth  waters  to  the  South  ?  I  put 
out  my  hand  to  you  ;  but  you  are  afraid  of  the  hard  hands  of 
the  Northern  people,  and  you  shrink  from  me.  Do  you  think  wc 
would  harm  you,  then,  that  you  tremble  so?  The  savage  days 
are  gone.  Come — we  will  show  you  the  beautiful  islands  in  the 
summer-time ;  and  you  will  take  high  courage,  and  become  your- 
self a  Macleod  ;  and  all  the  people  will  be  proud  to  hear  of  Fiona- 
ghal,  the  Fair  Stranger,  who  has  come  to  make  her  home  among 
us.  Oh,  our  hands  are  gentle  enough  when  it  is  a  Rose-leaf  they 
have  to  touch.  There  was  blood  on  them  in  the  old  days;  we 
have  washed  it  off  now  :  see — this  beautiful  red  rose  you  have 
given  me  is  not  afraid  of  rough  liands !  "We  have  no  beautiful 
roses  to  give  you,  but  we  will  give  you  a  piece  of  white  heather, 
and  that  will  secure  to  you  peace  and  rest  and  a  happy  heart  all 
your  days.  You  will  not  touch  it,  sweetheart?  Do  not  be  afraid  ! 
There  is  no  adder  in  it.  But  if  you  were  to  find,  now,  a  white 
adder,  would  you  knov/  what  to  do  with  it  ?  There  was  a  sweet- 
heart in  an  old  song  knew  what  to  do  with  an  adder.  Do  you 
know  the  song  ?  The  young  man  goes  back  to  his  home,  and  he 
says  to  his  mother,  "  Oh  make  my  bed  soon  ;  for  I'm  weary,  weary 
hunting,  and  fain  would  lie  doon."  ^Yhy  do  you  turn  so  pale, 
sweetheart?  There  is  the  whiteness  of  a  white  adder  in  your 
cheeks ;  and  your  eyes — there  is  death  in  your  eyes !  Donald  ! 
— Hamish!  help!  help! — her  foot  is  coming  near  to  my  grave! 
— my  heart —  !" 

*******. 

******* 

And  so,  in  a  paroxysm  of  wild  terror  and  pain,  he  awoke  again  ; 
and  beliold,  the  ghastly  white  daylight  was  in  the  room — the  cold 
glare  of  a  day  he  would  fain  liave  never  seen  !  It  was  all  in  a 
sort  of  dream  that  this  haggard-faced  man  dressed,  and  drank  a 
cup  of  tea,  and  got  outside  into  the  rain.  The  rain,  and  the  noise 
of  the  cabs,  and  the  gloom  of  London  skies :  these  harsh  and 
commonplace  things  were  easier  to  bear  than  the  dreams  of  the 


340  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

sick  brain.     And  then,  somehow  or  other,  he  got  his  way  down 
to  Aldcrshot,  and  sought  out  Norman  Ogilvie. 

"Macleod!"  Ogilvie  cried  —  startled  beyond  measure  by  his 
appearance. 

"I — I  wanted  to  shake  hands  with  you,  Ogilvie,  before  I  am 
going,"  said  this  hollow-eyed  man,  who  seemed  to  have  grown  old. 

Ogilvie  hesitated  for  a  second  or  two ;  and  then  he  said,  vehe- 
mently, 

"  Well,  Macleod,  I  am  not  a  sentimental  chap — but — ^Ijut — 
liang  it !  it  is  too  bad.  And  again  and  again  I  have  thought  of 
writing  to  you,  as  your  friend,  just  within  the  last  week  or  so; 
and  then  I  said  to  myself  that  talc-bearing  never  came  to  any 
good.  But  she  won't  darken  Mrs.  Ross's  door  again  —  that  I 
know.  Mrs.  Ross  went  straight  to  her  the  other  day.  There  is 
no  nonsense  about  that  woman.  And  when  she  got  to  under- 
stand that  the  story  was  true,  she  let  Miss  AVhite  know  that  she 
considered  you  to  be  a  friend  of  hers,  and  that — well,  you  know 
how  women  give  hints — " 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Ogilvie !"  be  cried,  quite 
bewildered.  "  Is  it  a  thing  for  all  the  world  to  know  ?  AVhat 
story  is  it — when  I  knew  nothing  till  yesterday  ?" 

"  Well,  you  know  now  :  I  saw  by  your  face  a  minute  ago  that 
she  had  told  you  the  truth  at  last,"  Ogilvie  said.  "  Macleod,  don't 
blame  me.  When  I  heard  of  her  being  about  to  be  married,  I 
did  not  believe  the  story — " 

Macleod  sprang  at  him  like  a  tiger,  and  caught  his  arm  with 
the  grip  of  a  vise. 

"Her  getting  married? — to  whom?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?"  Ogilvie  said,  with  his  eyes  staring. 
"  Oh  yes,  you  must  know.  I  see  you  know  !  Why,  the  look  in 
your  face  when  you  came  into  this  room — " 

"Who  is  the  man,  Ogilvie?" — and  there  was  the  sudden  hate 
of  ten  thousand  devils  in  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  it  is  that  artist  fellow — Lemuel.  You  don't  mean  to 
say  she  hasn't  told  you  ?  It  is  the  common  story  !  And  Mrs. 
Ross  thought  it  was  only  a  piece  of  nonsense  —  she  said  they 
were  always  making  out  those  stories  about  actresses — but  she 
■went  to  Miss  AVhite.  And  when  Miss  White  could  not  deny  it, 
Mrs.  Ross  said  there  and  then  they  had  better  let  their  friendship 
drop.     Macleod,  I  would  have  written  to  you — upon  my  soul,  I 


DREAMS.  341 

would  have  Avritten  to  you — but  how  could  I  imagine  you  did 
not  know  ?  And  do  you  really  mean  to  say  she  has  not  told  you 
anything  of  what  has  been  going  on  recently  —  what  was  well 
known  to  everybody  ?" 

And  this  young  man  spoke  in  a  passion,  too :  Keith  Macleod 
was  his  friend.  But  Macleod  himself  seemed,  with  some  power- 
ful effort  of  will,  to  have  got  the  better  of  his  sudden  and  fierce 
hate ;  he  sat  down  agahi ;  he  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  but  there  was 
a  dark  look  in  his  eyes. 

'*  No,"  said  he,  slowly,  *'  she  has  not  told  me  all  about  it.  Well, 
she  did  tell  me  about  a  poor  creature — a  woman-man — a  thing 
of  affectation,  Avith  his  paint-box  and  his  velvet  coat,  and  his  fur- 
niture.    Ogilvie,  have  you  got  any  brandy  ?" 

Ogilvie  rang,  and  got  some  brandy,  some  water,  a  tumbler,  and 
a  wine-glass  placed  on  the  table,  Macleod,  with  a  hand  that 
trembled  violently,  filled  the  tumbler  half  full  with  brandy. 

"And  she  could  not  deny  the  story  to  Mrs.  Ross?"  said  he, 
with  a  strange  and  hard  smile  on  his  face.  "  It  was  her  mod- 
esty. Ah,  you  don't  know,  Ogilvie,  what  an  exalted  soul  she  has. 
She  is  full  of  idealisms.  She  could  not  explain  all  that  to  Mrs. 
Ross.  /  know.  And  when  she  folind  herself  too  weak  to  carry 
out  her  aspirations,  she  sought  help.  Is  that  it  ?  She  would  gain 
assurance  and  courage  from  the  woman-man  ?" 

He  pushed  the  tumbler  avray ;  his  hand  was  still  trembling 
violently. 

"I  will  not  touch  that,  Ogilvie,"  said  he,  "  for  I  have  not  much 
mastery  over  myself.  I  am  going  away  now — I  am  going  back 
now  to  the  Highlands — oh !  you  do  not  know  what  I  have  be- 
come since  I  met  that  woman  —  a  coward  and  a  liar!  They 
wouldn't  have  you  sit  down  at  the  mess -table,  Ogilvie,  if  you 
were  that,  would  they  ?  I  dare  not  stay  in  London  now.  I  must 
run  awa)^  now — like  a  hare  that  is  hunted.  It  would  not  be  good 
for  her  or  for  me  that  I  should  stay  any  longer  in  London." 

He  rose  and  held  out  his  hand :  there  was  a  curious  glazed 
look  on  his  eyes.     Ogilvie  pressed  him  back  into  the  chair  again. 

"  You  are  not  going  out  in  this  condition,  Macleod  ? — you  don't 
know  what  you  are  doing !  Come  now,  let  us  be  reasonable ;  let 
us  talk  over  the  thing  like  men.  And  I  must  say,  first  of  all, 
that  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it,  for  your  sake.  It  will  be  a  hard 
twist  at  first ;  but,  bless  you  !  lots  of  fellows  have  had  to  fight 


342.  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

througli  the  same  thing,  and  they  come  up  smiling  after  it,  and 
you  would  scarcely  know  the  difference.  Don't  imagine  I  am 
surprised — oh,  no.  I  never  did  believe  in  that  young  woman  ;  I 
thought  she  was  a  deuced  sight  too  clever;  and  when  slie  used 
to  go  about  humbugging  this  one  and  the  other  with  her  innocent 
airs,  I  said  to  myself,  '  Oh,  it's  all  very  well :  but  you  know  what 
you  are  about.'  Of  course  there  was  no  use  talking  to  you.  I 
believe  at  one  time  Mrs.  Ross  was  considering  the  point  whether 
she  ought  not  to  give  you  a  hint — seeing  that  you  had  met  Miss 
White  first  at  her  house — that  the  young  lady  was  rather  clever 
at  flirtation,  and  that  you  ought  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out.  But 
then  you  would  only  have  blazed  up  in  anger.  It  was  no  use 
talking  to  you.  And  then,  after  all,  I  said  that  if  you  were  so 
bent  on  marrying  her,  the  chances  were  that  you  would  have  no 
difficulty,  for  I  thought  the  bribe  of  her  being  called  Lady  Mac- 
leod  would  be  enough  for  any  actress.  As  for  this  man  Lemuel, 
no  doubt  he  is  a  very  great  man,  as  people  say  ;  but  I  don't  know 
much  about  these  things  myself ;  and — and — I  think  it  is  very 
plucky  of  Mrs.  Ross  to  cut  off  two  of  her  lions  at  one  stroke.  It 
shows  she  must  have  taken  an  uncommon  liking  for  you.  So 
you  must  cheer  up,  Macleod.  If  women  take  a  fancy  to  you  like 
that,  you'll  easily  get  a  better  wife  than  Miss  White  would  have 
made.  Mind  you,  I  don't  go  back  from  anything  I  ever  said  of 
her.  She  is  a  handsome  woman,  and  no  mistake;  and  I  will  say 
that  she  is  the  best  waltzer  that  I  ever  met  with  in  the  whole 
course  of  my  life  —  without  exception.  But  she's  the  sort  of 
woman  who,  if  I  married  her,  would  want  some  looking  after — I 
mean,  that  is  my  impression.  The  fact  is,  Macleod,  away  there  in 
Mull  you  have  been  brought  up  too  much  on  books  and  your  own 
imagination.  You  were  ready  to  believe  any  pretty  woman,  with 
soft  English  ways,  an  angel.  Well,  you  have  had  a  twister;  but 
you'll  come  through  it ;  and  you  will  get  to  believe,  after  all,  that 
women  are  very  good  creatures — just  as  men  are  very  good  creat- 
ures, when  you  get  the  right  sort.  Come  now,  Macleod,  pull 
yourself  together.  Perhaps  I  have  just  as  hard  an  opinion  of 
her  conduct  toward  you  as  you  have  yourself.  But  you  know 
what  Tommy  Moore,  or  some  fellow  like  that,  says  —  'Though 
she  be  not  fair  to  me,  what  the  devil  care  I  how  fair  she  be?' 
And  if  I  were  you,  I  would  have  a  drop  of  brandy — but  not  half 
a  tumblerful." 


DREAMS.  343 

But  neither  Lieutenant  Ogilvie's  pert  common-sense,  nor  bis 
apt  and  accurate  quotation,  nor  the  proffered  brandy,  seemed  to 
alter  mucb  the  mood  of  this  haggard-fjiced  man.     He  rose. 

"I  think  I  am  going  now,"  said  be,  in  a  low  voice.  "You 
won't  take  it  unkindly,  Ogilvie,  that  I  don't  stop  to  talk  with 
you:  it  is  a  strange  story  you  have  told  me  —  I  want  time  to 
think  over  it.     Good-bye  !" 

"The  fact  is,  Macleod,"  Ogilvie  stammered,  as  he  regarded  bis 
friend's  face,  "  I  don't  like  to  leave  you.  Won't  you  stay  and 
dine  with  our  fellows?  Or  shall  I  see  if  I  can  run  up  to  London 
with  you  ?'' 

"No,  thank  yuu,  Ogilvie,"  said  lie.  "And  liave  you  any  mes- 
sage for  the  mother  and  Janet  ?" 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  will  remember  me  most  kindly  to  them.  At 
least,  I  will  go  to  the  station  with  you,  Macleod." 

"  Thank  you,  Ogilvie ;  but  I  would  rather  go  alone.  Good- 
bye, now." 

He  sliook  hands  with  bis  friend,  in  an  absent  sort  of  way,  and 
left.  But  while  yet  bis  band  was  on  the  door,  be  turned  and 
said, 

"  Ob,  do  you  remember  my  gun  that  has  the  shot  barrel  and 
the  rifle  barrel  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"And  would  you  like  to  have  that,  Ogilvie? — we  sometimes 
had  it  when  we  were  out  together." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  take  your  gun  from  you,  Macleod?"  said 
the  other.     "And  you  will  soon  have  plenty  of  use  for  it  now." 

"  Good-bye,  then,  Ogilvie,"  said  be,  and  be  left,  and  went  out 
into  the  world  of  rain,  and  lowering  skies,  and  darkening  moors. 

And  when  he  went  back  to  Dare  it  Avas  a  wet  day  also ;  but 
be  was  very  cheerful ;  and  he  bad  a  friendly  word  for  all  whom 
be  met ;  and  he  told  the  mother  and  Janet  that  he  had  got  home 
at  last,  and  meant  to  go  no  more  a-roving.  But  that  evening, 
after  dinner,  "when  Donald  began  to  play  the  Lament  for  the 
memory  of  the  five  sons  of  Dare,  Macleod  gave  a  sort  of  stifled 
cry,  and  there  were  tears  running  down  bis  cheeks — which  was  a 
strange  thing  for  a  man ;  and  he  rose  and  left  the  ball,  just  as  a 
woman  would  have  done.  And  his  mother  sat  there,  cold,  and 
pale,  and  trembling ;  but  the  gentle  cousin  Janet  called  out,  with 
a  piteous  trouble  in  her  eyes, 


844  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  Oil,  auntie,  liavc  you  seen  tLe  look  on  our  Keith's  face,  ever 
since  lie  came  ashore  to-day  V 

"  I  know  it,  Janet,"  said  she.  "  I  have  seen  it.  That  woman 
has  broken  his  heart ;  and  he  is  the  last  of  my  six  brave  lads !" 

Tliey  could  not  speak  any  more  now ;  for  Donald  had  come 
up  the  hall ;  and  he  was  playing  the  wild,  sad  wail  of  the  Cum- 
hadh-na-  Cloinne. 


CHAPTER  XLT. 

A    LAST    HOPE. 

Those  sleepless  nights  of  passionate  yearning  and  despair — 
those  days  of  sullen  gloom,  broken  only  by  wild  cravings  for  re- 
venge that  went  through  his  brain  like  spasms  of  fire — these 
were  killing  this  man.  His  face  grew  haggard  and  gray ;  his 
eyes  morose  and  hopeless;  he  shunned  people  as  if  he  feared 
their  scrutiny  ;  he  brooded  over  the  past  in  a  silence  he  did  not 
wish  to  have  broken  by  any  human  voice.  This  was  no  longer 
Macleod  of  Dare.  It  was  the  wreck  of  a  man — drifting  no  one 
knew  whither. 

And  in  those  dark  and  morbid  reveries  there  was  no  longer 
any  bewilderment.  He  saw  clearly  how  he  liad  been  tricked  and 
played  with.  He  understood  now  the  coldness  she  had  shown 
on  coming  to  Dare ;  her  desire  to  get  away  again  ;  her  impa- 
tience with  his  appeals ;  her  anxiety  that  communication  between 
them  should  be  solely  by  letter.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  would  say  to 
himself — and  sometimes  he  would  laufjli  aloud  in  the  solitude  of 
the  hills,  "  she  was  prudent.  She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  as 
Stuart  used  to  say.  She  would  not  quite  throw  me  off — she 
would  not  be  quite  frank  with  me — until  she  had  made  sure  of 
the  other.  And  in  lier  trouble  of  doubt,  when  she  was  trying  to 
be  better  than  herself,  and  anxious  to  have  guidance,  that  was  the 
guide  she  turned  to — the  woman-man,  the  dabbler  in  paint-boxes, 
the  critic  of  carpets  and  wall-papers  I" 

Sometimes  he  grew  to  hate  her.  She  had  destroyed  the  world 
for  him.  She  liad  destroyed  his  faith  in  the  honesty  and  honor 
of  womanhood.  She  had  played  with  him  as  with  a  toy  —  a 
fanc}'  of  the  brain — and  thrown  him  aside  when  something  new 


A    LAST    HOPE.  345 

was  presented  to  licr.  And  when  a  man  is  stung  by  a  white 
adder,  does  lie  not  turn  and  stamp  witli  Iiis  lieel  ?  Is  lie  not 
bound  to  crush  tlie  creature  out  of  existence,  to  keep  God's  earth 
and  the  free  sunlight  sweet  and  pure  ? 

But  then — but  then — tlie  beauty  of  her  !  In  dreams  he  heard 
her  low,  sweet  laugh  again  ;  he  saw  the  beautiful  brown  hair ;  he 
surrendered  to  the  irresistible  witchery  of  the  clear  and  lovely 
eyes.  What  would  not  a  man  give  for  one  last,  wild  kiss  of  the 
laughing  and  half-parted  lips?  Ilis  life?  And  if  that  life  hap- 
pened to  be  a  mere  broken  and  useless  thing — a  hateful  thing — 
would  he  not  gladly  and  proudly  fling  it  away  ?  One  long,  lin- 
gering, despairing  kiss,  and  then  a  deep  draught  of  Death's 
black  wine ! 

One  day  he  was  riding  down  to  the  fishing -station,  when  he 
met  John  Macintyre,  the  postman,  who  handed  him  a  letter,  and 
passed  on.  Macleod  opened  this  letter  with  some  trepidation, 
for  it  was  from  London  ;  but  it  was  in  Norman  Ogilvie's  hand- 
writing. 

"Dear  Macleod,  —  I  thought  you  might  like  to  hear  the 
latest  news.  I  cut  the  enclosed  from  a  sort  of  half-sporting,  half- 
theatrical  paper  our  fellows  get;  no  doubt  the  paragraph  is  true 
enouffh.  And  I  wish  it  was  well  over  and  done  with,  and  she 
married  out  of  hand  ;  for  I  know  until  that  is  so  you  will  be  tor- 
turing yourself  with  all  sorts  of  projects  and  fancies.  Good-bye, 
old  fellow.  I  suppose  when  you  offered  me  the  gun,  you  thought 
your  life  had  collapsed  altogether,  and  that  you  would  have  no 
further  use  for  anything.  But  no  doubt,  after  the  first  shock, 
you  have  thought  better  of  that.  How  are  the  birds  ?  I  hear 
rather  bad  accounts  from  Ross ;  but  then  he  is  always  complain- 
ing about  something. 

"  Yours  sincerely,  Norman  Ogilvie." 

And  then  he  unfolded  the  newspaper  cutting  which  Ogilvie 
had  enclosed.  The  paragraph  of  gossip  announced  that  the  Pic- 
cadilly Theatre  would  shortly  be  closed  for  repairs  ;  but  that  the 
projected  provincial  tour  of  the  company  had  been  abandoned. 
On  the  reopening  of  the  theatre,  a  play,  which  was  now  in  prep- 
aration, written  by  Mr.  Gregory  Lemuel,  would  be  produced.  "  It 
is   understood,"  continued  the   newsman,  "  that  Miss   Gertrude 

15* 


346  MACLEOD    OF    DAllE, 

White,  tbe  young  and  gifted  actress  who  has  been  the  chief  at- 
traction at  the  Piccadilly  Theatre  for  two  years  back,  is  sliortly 
to  be  nsarried  to  Mr.  L.  Lemuel,  the  Avell-known  artist ;  but  the 
public  have  no  reason  to  fear  the  withdrawal  from  the  stage  of 
so  popular  a  favorite,  for  she  has  consented  to  take  the  chief  role 
in  the  new  play,  which  is  said  to  be  of  a  tragic  nature." 

Macleod  put  the  letter  and  its  enclosure  into  his  pocket,  and  rode 
on.     The  hand  that  held  the  bridle  shook  somewhat;  that  was  all. 

He  met  Hamish. 

"  Oh,  Hamish  !"  he  cried,  quite  gayly.  "  Hamish,  will  you  go 
to  the  wedding?" 

"What  wedding,  sir?"  said  the  old  man;  but  well  he  knew. 
If  there  was  any  one  blind  to  what  had  been  going  on,  that  was 
not  Hamish ;  and  again  and  again  he  had  in  his  heart  cursed  the 
English  traitress  who  had  destroyed  his  master's  peace. 

"  Why,  do  you  not  remember  the  English  lady  that  was  here 
not  so  long  ago  ?  And  she  is  going  to  be  married.  And  would 
you  like  to  go  to  the  wedding,  Hamish  ?" 

He  scarcely  seemed  to  know  what  he  was  saying  in  this  wild 
way ;  there  was  a  strange  look  in  liis  eyes,  though  apparently  he 
was  very  merry.  And  this  was  the  first  word  he  had  uttered 
about  Gertrude  White  to  any  living  being  at  Dare  ever  since  his 
last  return  from  the  South. 

Now  what  was  Hamish's  answer  to  this  gay  invitation  ?  The 
Gaelic  tongue  is  almost  devoid  of  those  meaningless  expletives 
which,  in  other  languages,  express  mere  annoyance  or  temper; 
when  a  Highlander  swears,  he  usually  swears  in  English.  But  the 
Gaelic  curse  is  a  much  more  solemn  and  deliberate  affair. 

"J/ay  her  soul  dwell  in  the  lowermost  hall  of  perdition  P^ — that 
was  the  answer  that  Hamish  made ;  and  there  was  a  blaze  of  an- 
ger in  the  keen  eyes  and  in  the  proud  and  handsome  face. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  continued  the  old  man,  in  his  native  tongue,  and  he 
spoke  rapidly  and  passionately,  "  I  am  only  a  serving-man,  and 
perhaps  a  serving-man  ought  not  to  speak ;  but  perhaps  some- 
times he  will  speak.  And  have  I  not  seen  it  all.  Sir  Keith? — 
and  no  more  of  the  pink  letters  coming;  and  you  going  about  a 
chancced  man,  as  if  there  was  nothing  more  in  life  for  von?  And 
now  you  ask  me  if  I  will  go  to  the  wedding?  And  what  do  I 
say  to  you,  Sir  Keith  ?  I  say  this  to  you  —  that  the  woman  is 
not  now  living  who  will  put  that  shame  on  Macleod  of  Dare  l" 


A    LAST    HOPE.  347 

Maclcod  regarded  the  old  man's  angry  vehemence  almost  in- 
differently ;  he  had  grown  to  pay  little  heed  to  anything  around 
him. 

"Oh  yes,  it  is  a  fine  thing  for  the  English  lady,"  said  Hamish, 
with  the  same  proud  fierceness,  "  to  come  here  and  amuse  herself. 
But  she  does  not  know  the  Mull  men  yet.  Do  you  thint,  Sir 
Keith,  that  any  one  of  your  forefathers  Avould  have  had  this 
shame  put  upon  him  ?  I  think  not.  1  think  he  would  have  said, 
'  Come,  lads,  here  is  a  proud  madam  that  does  not  know  that  a 
man's  will  is  stronger  than  a  woman's  will ;  and  we  will  teach  her 
a  lesson.  And  before  she  has  learned  that  lesson,  she  will  dis- 
cover that  it  is  not  safe  to  trifie  with  a  Macleod  of  Dare.'  And 
you  ask  me  if  I  will  go  to  the  wedding !  I  have  known  you 
since  you  were  a  child.  Sir  Keith ;  and  I  put  the  first  gun  in  your 
liand ;  and  I  saw  you  catch  your  first  salmon  :  it  is  not  right  to 
laugh  at  an  old  man." 

"  Laughing  at  you,  Ilamish  ?  I  gave  you  an  invitation  to  a 
wedding !" 

"And  if  I  was  going  to  that  wedding,"  said  Hamish,  with  a 
return  of  that  fierce  light  to  the  gray  eyes,  "  do  you  know  how 
I  would  go  to  the  wedding  ?  I  would  take  two  or  three  of  the 
young  lads  Avith  me.  We  would  make  a  fine  party  for  the  wed- 
ding. Oh  yes,  a  fine  party !  And  if  the  English  church  is  a 
fine  church,  can  we  not  take  off  our  caps  as  well  as  any  one? 
But  when  the  pretty  madam  came  in,  I  would  say  to  myself, '  Oh 
yes,  my  fine  madam,  you  forgot  it  was  a  Macleod  you  had  to  deal 
with,  and  not  a  child,  and  you  did  not  think  you  would  have  a 
visit  from  two  or  three  of  the  Mull  lads  !'  " 

"And  what  then?"  Macleod  said,  with  a  smile,  thougli  this 
picture  of  his  sweetheart  coming  into  the  church  as  the  bride  of 
another  man  had  paled  his  cheek. 

"And  before  she  had  brought  that  shame  on  the  house  of 
Dare,"  said  Hamish,  excitedly,  "do  you  not  think  that  I  would 
seize  her  —  that  I  Avould  seize  her  with  my  own  hands?  And 
when  the  young  lads  and  I  had  thrust  her  down  into  the  cabin 
of  the  yacht — oh  yes,  when  we  had  thrust  her  down  and  put  the 
hatch  over,  do  you  think  the  proud  madam  would  be  quite  so 
proud  ?" 

Macleod  laughed  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Why,  Hamish,  you  want  to  become  a  famous  person  !     Yon 


348  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

would  carry  oil  a  popular  actress,  and  have  all  the  country  ring- 
ing with  the  exploit!  And  would  yuu  have  a  piper,  too,  to 
drown  her  screams — just  as  Macdonald  of  Armadale  did  when  he 
came  with  his  men  to  South  Uist  and  carried  oS.  Flora  Macdon- 
ald's  mother  ?" 

"And  was  there  ever  a  better  marriage  than  that — as  I  have 
heard  many  a  man  of  Skye  say  ?"  Hamisli  exclaimed,  eagerly. 
"Oh  yes,  it  is  good  for  a  woman  to  know  that  a  man's  will  is 
stronger  than  a  woman's  will !  And  when  we  have  the  fine 
English  madam  caged  up  in  the  cabin,  and  we  are  coming  away 
to  the  North  again,  she  will  not  have  so  many  fine  airs,  I  think. 
And  if  the  will  cannot  be  broken,  it  is  the  neck  that  can  be  bro- 
ken;  and  better  that  than  that  Sir  Keith  Macleod  should  have  a 
shame  put  on  him." 

"Hamish,  Ilamish,  how  will  you  dare  to  go  into  the  church  at 
Salen  next  Sunday  ?"  Macleod  said ;  but  he  was  now  regarding 
the  old  man  with  a  strange  curiosity. 

"  Men  were  made  before  churches  were  thought  of,"  Hamish 
said,  curtly  ;  and  then  Macleod  laughed,  and  rode  on. 

The  laugh  soon  died  away  from  his  face.  Here  was  the  stone 
bridge  on  which  she  used  to  lean  to  drop  pebbles  into  the  whirl- 
ing clear  water.  Was  there  not  some  impression  even  yet  of  her 
soft  warm  arm  on  the  velvet  moss  ?  And  what  had  the  voice  of 
the  streamlet  told  him  in  the  days  long  ago  —  that  the  summer- 
time was  made  for  happy  lovers ;  that  she  was  coming ;  that  he 
should  take  her  hand  and  show  her  the  beautiful  islands  and  the  sun- 
lit seas  before  the  darkening  skies  of  the  winter  came  over  them. 
And  here  was  the  summer  sea ;  and  moist,  warm  odors  were  in 
the  larch-wood ;  and  out  there  Ulva  was  shining  green,  and  there 
was  sunlight  on  the  islands  and  on  the  rocks  of  Erisgeir.  But 
she — where  was  she  ?  Perhaps  standing  before  a  mirror ;  with  a 
dress  all  of  white ;  and  trying  how  orange-blossoms  would  best 
lie  in  her  soft  brown  hair.  Her  arms  are  uplifted  to  her  head ; 
she  smiles :  could  not  one  suddenly  seize  her  now  by  the  waist 
and  bear  her  off,  with  the  smile  changed  to  a  blanched  look  of 
fear?  The  wild  pirates  have  got  her;  the  Rose-leaf  is  crushed 
in  the  cruel  Northern  hands;  at  last  —  at  last  —  what  is  in  the 
scabbard  has  been  drawn,  and  declared,  and  she  screams  in  her 
terror ! 

Then  ho  fell  to  brooding  again  over  Hamish's  mad  scheme. 


A   LAST   HOPE.  349 

The  fine  Ens^Usli  cliurcli  of  Ilamisli's  imasrination  was  no  doubt 
a  little  stone  building  that  a  handful  of  sailors  could  carry  at 
a  rush.  And  of  course  the  yacht  must  needs  be  close  by ;  for 
there  was  no  land  in  Hamish's  mind  that  was  out  of  sight  of  the 
salt-water.  And  what  consideration  would  this  old  man  have  for 
delicate  fancies  and  studies  in  moral  science  ?  The  fine  madam 
had  been  chosen  to  be  the  bride  of  Maclcod  of  Dare  ;  that  was 
enough.  If  her  will  would  not  bend,  it  would  have  to  be  broken  ; 
that  was  the  good  old  way.  Was  there  ever  a  happier  wife  than 
the  Lady  of  Armadale,  who  had  been  carried  screaming  down- 
stairs in  the  night-time,  and  placed  in  her  lover's  boat,  with  the 
pipes  playing  a  wild  pibroch  all  the  time  ? 

Macleod  was  in  the  library  that  night  when  Hamish  came  to 
him  with  some  papers.  And  just  as  the  old  man  was  about  to 
leave,  Macleod  said  to  him, 

"  Well,  that  was  a  pretty  story  you  told  me  this  morning, 
llamish,  about  the  carrying  off  the  young  English  lady.  And 
have  you  thought  any  more  about  it?" 

"  I  have  thought  enough  about  it,"  llamish  said,  in  liis  native 
tongue. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  could  tell  me,  when  you  start  on  this  fine 
expedition,  how  you  are  going  to  have  the  yacht  taken  to  Lon- 
don ?  The  lads  of  Mull  are  very  clever,  Hgmish,  I  know ;  but 
do  you  think  that  any  one  of  them  can  steer  the  Umjnre  all  the 
way  from  Loch-na-Keal  to  the  river  Thames  ?" 

"  Is  it  the  river  Thames  ?"  said  llamish,  with  great  contempt. 
"And  is  that  all  —  the  river  Thames?  Do  you  know  this,  Sir 
Keith,  that  my  cousin  Colin  Laing,  that  has  a  whiskey-shop  now 
in  Greenock,  has  been  all  over  the  world,  and  at  China  and  other 
places ;  and  he  was  the  mate  of  many  a  big  vessel ;  and  do  you 
think  he  could  not  take  the  Umpire  from  Loch-na-Keal  to  Lon- 
don ?  And  I  would  only  have  to  send  a  line  to  him  and  say, 
'  Colin,  it  is  Sir  Keith  Macleod  himself  that  will  want  you  to  do 
this;'  and  then  he  will  leave  twenty  or  thirty  shops,  ay,  fifty  and 
a  hundred  shops,  and  think  no  more  of  them  at  all.  Oh  yes,  it 
is  very  true  what  you  say.  Sir  Keith.  There  is  no  one  knows 
better  than  I  the  soundings  in  Loch  Scridain  and  Loch  Tua ;  and 
you  have  said  yourself  that  there  is  not  a  bank  or  a  rock  about 
the  islands  that  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  have  not  been  to  London 
— no,  I  have  not  been  to  London.     But  is  there  any  great  trouble 


350  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 

in  getting  to  London  ?  No,  none  at  all,  when  we  have  Colin 
Laing  on  board." 

Macleod  was  apparently  making  a  gay  joke  of  the  matter ;  but 
there  v/as  an  anxious,  intense  look  in  his  eyes  all  the  same — even 
when  he  was  staring  absently  at  the  table  before  him. 

"  Oh  yes,  Ilamish,"  he  said,  laughing  in  a  constrained  manner, 
"that  would  be  a  fine  story  to  tell.  And  you  would  become 
very  famous — just  as  if  you  were  working  for  fame  in  a  theatre  ; 
and  all  the  people  would  be  talking  about  you.  And  when  you 
got  to  London,  how  would  you  get  through  the  London  streets  ?" 

"  It  is  my  cousin  who  would  show  me  the  way  :  has  he  not 
been  to  London  more  times  than  I  have  been  to  Stornoway  ?" 

"  But  the  streets  of  London — they  would  cover  all  the  ground 
between  here  and  Loch  Scridain ;  and  how  would  you  carry  the 
young  lady  through  them  ?" 

"  We  would  carry  her,"  said  Hamisli,  curtly. 

"With  the  bagpipes  to  drown  her  screams?" 

"  I  would  drown  her  screams  myself,"  said  Hamish,  with  a 
sudden  savageness;  and  he  added  something  that  Macleod  did 
not  hear. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  am  a  magistrate,  Uamish  ?" 

"  I  know  it.  Sir  Keith." 

"And  when  you  come  to  me  with  this  proposal,  do  you  know 
what  I  should  do  ?" 

"  I  know  what  the  old  Maclcods  of  Dare  would  have  done," 
said  Hamish,  proudly,  "  before  they  let  this  shame  come  on  them. 
And  you.  Sir  Keith — you  are  a  Macleod,  too  ;  ay,  and  the  bravest 
lad  that  ever  was  born  in  Castle  Dare !  And  you  will  not  suffer 
this  thing  any  longer,  Sir  Keith  ;  for  it  is  a  sore  heart  I  have  from 
the  morning  till  the  night ;  and  it  is  only  a  serving-man  that  I 
am  ;  but  sometimes  when  I  will  see  you  going  about — and  noth- 
ing now  cared  for,  but  a  great  trouble  on  )'our  face — oh,  then  I 
say  to  myself,  '  Hamish,  you  are  an  old  man,  and  you  have  not 
long  to  live  ;  but  before  you  die  you  will  teach  the  fine  English 
madam  what  it  is  to  bring  a  shame  on  Sir  Keith  Macleod  !'  " 

"Ah,  well,  good -night  now,  Hamish  ;  I  am  tired,"  he  said; 
and  the  old  man  slowly  left. 

He  was  tired — if  one  might  judge  by  the  haggard  cheeks  and 
the  heavy  eyes ;  but  he  did  not  go  to  sleep.  He  did  not  even  go 
to  bed.     He  spent  the  live-long  night,  as  he  had  spent  too  many 


A    LAST    HOPE,  351 

lately,  in  nervously  pacing  to  and  fro  within  tbis  hushed  cham- 
ber ;  or  seated  with  his  arms  on  the  table,  and  the  aching  head 
resting  on  the  clasped  hands.  And  again  those  wild  visions  came 
to  torture  hiui — the  product  of  a  sick  heart  and  a  bewildered 
brain  ;  only  now  there  was  a  new  element  introduced.  This  mad 
project  of  Haniish's,  at  which  he  would  have  laughed  in  a  saner 
mood,  began  to  intertwist  itself  with  all  these  passionate  longings 
and  these  troubled  dreams  of  what  might  yet  be  possible  to  him 
on  earth  ;  and  wherever  he  turned  it  was  suggested  to  him  ;  and 
whatever  was  the  craving  and  desire  of  the  moment,  this,  and  this 
only,  was  the  way  to  reach  it.  For  if  one  were  mad  with  pain, 
and  determined  to  crush  the  white  adder  that  had  stung  one, 
what  better  way  than  to  seize  the  hateful  thing  and  cage  it  so 
that  it  should  do  no  more  harm  among  the  sons  of  men  ?  Or  if 
one  were  mad  because  of  the  love  of  a  beautiful  white  Princess — 
and  she  far  away,  and  dressed  in  bridal  robes  :  what  better  way 
than  to  take  her  hand  and  say,  "  Quick,  quick,  to  the  shore  !  For 
the  summer  seas  are  waiting  for  you,  and  there  is  a  home  for 
the  bride  far  away  in  the  North  ?"  Or  if  it  was  only  one  wild, 
despairing  effort — one  last  means  of  trying — to  bring  her  heart 
back  again  ?  Or  if  there  was  but  the  one  fierce,  captured  kiss  of 
those  lips  no  longer  laughing  at  all  ?  Men  had  ventured  more 
for  far  less  reward,  surely  ?  And  what  remained  to  him  in  life 
but  this  ?  There  was  at  least  the  splendid  joy  of  daring  and 
action ! 

The  hours  passed ;  and  sometimes  he  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep 
as  he  sat  with  his  head  bent  on  his  hands ;  but  then  it  was  only 
to  see  those  beautiful  pictures  of  her,  that  made  his  heart  ache 
all  the  more.  And  sometimes  he  saw  her  all  in  sailor-like  white 
and  blue,  as  she  was  stepping  down  from  the  steamer ;  and  some- 
times he  saw  the  merry  Duchess  coming  forward  through  the 
ball-room, with  her  saucy  eyes  and  her  laughing  and  parted  lips; 
and  sometimes  he  saw  her  before  a  mirror;  and  again  she  smiled 
— but  his  heart  would  fain  have  cried  aloud  in  its  anguish.  Then 
again  he  would  start  up,  and  look  at  the  window.  Was  he  im- 
patient for  the  day  ? 

The  lamp  still  burned  in  the  hushed  chamber.  With  trembling 
fingers  he  took  out  the  letter  Ogilvie  had  written  to  him,  and 
held  the  slip  of  printed  paper  before  his  bewildered  gaze.  "  The 
young  and  gifted   actress."     She   is  "shortly  to  be   married." 


352  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

And  the  new  piece  that  all  the  world  will  corae  to  see,  as  soon  as 
she  is  returned  from  her  wedding  tour,  is  "  of  a  tragic  nature." 

Ilamish !  llamish !  do  you  hear  these  things?  Do  you  know 
what  they  mean  ?  Oh,  we  will  have  to  look  sharp  if  we  are  to 
be  there  in  time.  Come  along,  you  brave  lads  !  it  is  not  the  first 
time  that  a  Macleod  has  carried  off  a  bride.  And  will  she  cry, 
do  you  think — for  we  have  no  pipes  to  drown  her  screams  ?  Ah, 
but  we  will  manage  it  another  way  than  that,  Hamish !  You 
have  no  cunning,  you  old  man !  There  will  be  no  scream  when 
the  white  adder  is  seized  and  caged. 

Bui  surely,  no  white  adder !  Oh,  sweetheart,  you  gave  me  a 
red  rose !  And  do  you  remember  the  night  in  the  garden,  with 
the  moonlight  around  us,  and  the  favor  you  wore  next  your  heart 
was  the  badge  of  the  Macleods?  You  were  not  afraid  of  the 
Macleods  then ;  you  had  no  fear  of  the  rude  Northern  people ; 
you  said  they  would  not  crush  a  pale  Rose-leaf.  And  now — now 
— see !  I  have  rescued  you ;  and  those  people  will  persuade  you 
no  longer ;  I  have  taken  you  away — you  are  free !  And  will  you 
come  up  on  deck  now,  and  look  around  on  the  summer  sea? 
And  shall  we  put  in  to  some  port,  and  telegraph  that  the  run- 
away bride  is  happy  enough,  and  that  they  will  hear  of  her  next 
from  Castle  Dare?  Look  around,  sweetheart:  surely  you  know 
the  old  boat.  And  here  is  Christina  to  wait  on  vou :  and  Ham- 
ish — Hamish  will  curse  you  no  more — he  will  be  your  friend 
now.  Oh,  you  will  make  the  mother's  heart  glad  at  last !  she  has 
not  smiled  for  many  a  day. 

^  *****  -* 

Or  is  it  the  proud  madam  that  is  below,  Hamish ;  and  she  will 
not  speak ;  and  she  sits  alone  in  all  her  finery  ?  And  what  are 
we  to  do  with  her  now,  then,  to  break  her  will  ?  Do  you  think 
she  will  speak  when  she  is  in  the  midst  of  the  silence  of  the 
Northern  seas?  Or  will  they  be  after  us,  Hamish?  Oh,  that 
would  be  a  fine  chase,  indeed !  and  we  would  lead  them  a  fine 
dance  through  the  AVestcrn  Isles;  and  I  think  you  would  try 
their  knowledge  of  the  channels  and  the  banks.  And  the  painter- 
fellow,  Hamish,  the  woman-man,  the  dabbler — would  he  be  in  the 
boat  behind  us?  or  would  he  be  down  below,  in  bed  in  the 
cabin,  with  a  nurse  to  attend  him?      Come  along,  then ! — but 


THE    WIIITK-WINGED    DOVE.  S'>3 

beware  of  the  overfalls  off  Tirec,  yon  Southern  men  I  Or  is  it  a 
race  for  Bavra  Head;  and  who  will  be  at  Vatcrsay  first?  There 
is  good  fishing-fri-ound  on  the  Sgriobh  bhan  ;  Hamish ;  they  may 
as  well  stop  to  fish  as  seek  to  catch  us  among  our  Western  Isles ! 
See,  the  dark  is  coming  down ;  are  these  the  Monach  lights  in 
the  north  ? — Hamish,  Hamish,  we  are  on  the  rocks ! — and  there 
is  no  one  to  help  her !     Oh,  sweetheart !  sweetheart ! — 

******* 

The  brief  fit  of  struggling  sleep  is  over;  he  rises  and  goes  to 
the  window ;  and  now,  if  he  is  impatient  for  the  new  day,  be- 
hold! the  new  day  is  here.  Oh,  see  how  the  wan  light  of  the 
morning  meets  the  wan  face !  It  is  the  face  of  a  man  who  has 
been  close  to  Death ;  it  is  the  face  of  a  man  who  is  desperate. 
And  if,  after  the  terrible  battle  of  the  night,  with  its  uncontrolla- 
ble yearning  and  its  unbearable  pain,  the  fierce  and  bitter  resolve 
is  taken? — if  there  remains  but  this  one  last  despairing  venture 
for  all  that  made  life  worth  having  ?  How  wildly  the  drowning 
man  clutches  at  this  or  that,  so  only  that  he  may  breathe  for  yet 
a  moment  more !  He  knows  not  what  miracle  may  save  liim ; 
he  knows  not  where  there  is  any  land ;  but  only  to  live — only  to 
breathe  for  another  moment — that  is  his  cry.  And  then,  may- 
hap, amidst  the  wild  whirl  of  waves,  if  he  were  suddenly  to  catch 
sight  of  the  shore ;  and  think  that  he  was  getting  near  to  that ; 
and  see  awaiting  him  there  a  white  Princess,  with  a  smile  on  her 
lips  and  a  red  rose  in  her  outstretched  hand  ?  Would  he  not 
make  one  last  convulsive  effort  before  the  black  waters  dragged 
him  down? 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE    WHITE-WINGED    DOVE. 


The  mere  thought  of  this  action,  swift,  immediate,  impetuous, 
seemed  to  give  relief  to  the  burning  brain.  He  went  outside,  and 
walked  down  to  the  shore ;  all  the  world  was  asleep  ;  but  the  day 
had  broken  fair  and  pleasant,  and  the  sea  was  calm  and  blue. 
Was  not  that  a  good  omen?  After  all,  then,  there  was  still  the 
wild,  glad  hope  that  Fionaghal  might  come  and  live  in  her  North- 
ern home;  the  summer  days  had  not  gone  forever;  they  might 
still  find  a  red  rose  for  her  bosom  at  Castle  Dare. 


354  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

xVnd  then  he  tried  to  deceive  liiniself.  Was  not  tins  a  mere 
lover's  stratagem  ?  Was  not  all  fair  in  love  as  iu  war  ?  Surely 
she  would  forgive  him,  for  the  sake  of  the  great  love  he  bore  her, 
and  the  happiness  he  would  try  to  bring  her  all  the  rest  of  her 
life  ?  And  no  sailor,  he  would  take  care,  would  lay  his  rough 
hand  on  her  gentle  arm.  That  was  the  folly  of  Ilamish.  There 
was  no  chance,  in  these  days,  for  a  band  of  Northern  pirates  to 
rush  into  a  church  and  carry  off  a  screaming  bride.  There  were 
other  ways  than  that — gentler  ways ;  and  the  victim  of  the  con- 
spiracy, why,  she  would  only  laugh  in  the  happy  after-time,  and 
be  glad  that  he  had  succeeded.  And  meanwhile  he  rejoiced  that 
so  much  had  to  be  done.  Oh  yes,  there  was  plenty  to  think  about 
now,  other  than  those  terrible  visions  of  the  night.  There  was 
work  to  do ;  and  the  cold  sea-air  was  cooling  the  fevered  brain, 
so  that  it  all  seemed  pleasant  and  easy  and  glad.  There  was  Col- 
in Laing  to  be  summoned  from  Greenock,  and  questioned.  The 
yacht  had  to  be  provisioned  for  a  long  voyage.  He  had  to  pre- 
pare the  mother  and  Janet  for  his  going  away.  And  might  not 
Norman  Ogilvie  find  out  somehow  when  the  marriage  was  to  be, 
so  that  he  would  know  how  much  time  was  left  him  ? 

But  with  all  this  eagerness  and  haste,  he  kept  whispering  to 
himself  counsels  of  caution  and  prudence.  lie  dared  not  awaken 
her  suspicion  by  professing  too  much  forgiveness  or  friendliness. 
He  wrote  to  her — with  what  a  trembling  hand  he  put  down  those 
words,  Dear  Gertrude,  on  paper,  and  how  wistfully  he  regarded 
them  ! — but  the  letter  was  a  proud  and  cold  letter.  He  said  that 
he  had  been  informed  she  was  about  to  be  married ;  he  wished  to 
ascertain  from  herself  whether  that  was  true.  He  would  not  re- 
proach her,  either  with  treachery  or  deceit ;  if  this  was  true,  pas- 
sionate words  would  not  be  of  much  avail.  But  he  would  prefer 
to  be  assured,  one  way  or  another,  by  her  own  hand.  That  was 
the  substance  of  the  letter. 

And  then,  the  answer  I  He  almost  feared  she  would  not  write. 
But  when  Hamish  himself  brought  that  pink  envelope  to  him, 
how  his  heart  beat !  And  the  old  man  stood  there  in  silence, 
and  with  gloom  on  his  face  :  was  there  to  be,  after  all,  no  act  of 
vengeance  on  her  who  had  betrayed  Macleod  of  Dare  ? 

These  few  words  seemed  to  have  been  written  with  unsteady 
fingers.  He  read  them  again  and  again.  Surely  there  was  no 
dark  mystery  within  them  ? 


THE    WIIITE-WINGEU    DOVE.  30o 

"  Dear  Keith, — I  cannot  bear  to  write  to  you.  I  do  not  know 
how  it  has  all  happened.  Forgive  me,  if  you  can ;  and  forget 
me.  G." 

"  Oh,  Hamish,"  said  he,  with  a  strange  laugh,  "  is  it  an  easy 
thing  to  forget  that  you  have  been  alive?  That  would  be  an 
easy  thing,  if  one  were  to  ask  you?  But  is  not  Colin  Laing 
coming  here  to-day  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Sir  Keith,"  Hamish  said,  with  his  eyes  lighting  up 
eagerly ;  "  he  will  be  here  with  the  Pioneer,  and  I  will  send  the 
boat  out  for  him.  Oh  yes,  and  you  are  wanting  to  see  him.  Sir 
Keith  ?" 

"  Why,  of  course  !"  Macleod  said.  "  If  we  are  going  away  on 
a  long  voyage,  do  we  not  want  a  good  pilot?" 

"  And  we  are  going,  Sir  Keith  ?"  the  old  man  said ;  and  there 
was  a  look  of  proud  triumph  in  the  keen  face. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know  yet,"  Macleod  said,  impatiently.  "  But 
you  will  tell  Christina  that,  if  we  are  going  away  to  the  South, 
we  may  have  lady-visitors  come  on  board,  some  day  or  another ; 
and  she  would  be  better  than  a  young  lass  to  look  after  them, 
and  make  them  comfortable  on  board.  And  if  there  is  any 
clothes  or  ribbons  she  may  want  from  Salen,  Donald  can  go  over 
with  the  pony  ;  and  you  will  not  spare  any  money,  Uamish,  for  I 
will  give  you  the  money." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

"And  you  will  not  send  the  boat  out  to  the  Pioneer  till  I  give 
you  a  letter ;  and  you  will  ask  the  clerk  to  be  so  kind  as  to  post 
it  for  me  to-night  at  Oban  ;  and  he  must  not  forget  that." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Hamish ;  and  he  left  the  room,  with  a 
determined  look  about  his  lips,  but  with  a  glad  light  in  his  eyes. 

This  was  the  second  letter  that  Macleod  wrote;  and  he  had 
to  keep  wliispering  to  himself, "  Caution  !  caution  !"  or  he  would 
have  broken  into  some  wild  appeal  to  his  sweetheart  far  away. 

"  Dear  Gertrude,"  he  wrote,  "  I  gather  from  your  note  that 
it  is  true  you  are  going  to  be  married.  I  had  lieard  some  time 
ago,  so  your  letter  was  no  great  shock  to  me ;  and  what  I  have 
suffered — well,  that  can  be  of  no  interest  to  you  now,  and  it  will 
do  me  no  good  to  recall  it.  As  to  your  message,  I  would  forgive 
you  freely;  but  how  can  T  forget?     Can  you  forget?.    Do  you 


350  MACLEOD    OK    DARE. 

remeiuber  the  red  rose  ?  Bat  that  is  all  over  now,  I  suppose ; 
and  I  should  not  ■wonder  if  I  were,  after  all,  to  be  able  to  obey 
you,  and  to  forget  very  thoroughly — not  that  alone,  but  every- 
thino-  else.  For  I  have  been  rather  ill  of  late  —  more  through 
sleeplessness  than  any  other  cause,  I  think;  and  they  say  I  must 
go  for  a  long  sea-voyage;  and  the  mother  and  Janet  both  say  I 
should  be  more  at  home  in  the  old  Uinjnre,  ■with  Hamish  and 
Christina,  and  my  own  people  round  me,  than  in  a  steamer ;  and 
so  I  may  not  hear  of  you  again  until  you  are  separated  from  me 
forever.  But  I  write  now  to  ask  you  if  you  would  like  your  let- 
ters returned,  and  one  or  two  keepsakes,  and  the  photographs.  I 
■would  not  like  them  to  fall  into  other  hands ;  and  sometimes  I 
feel  so  sick  at  heart  that  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  again  get 
back  to  Dare.  There  are  some  flowers,  too ;  but  I  would  ask 
to  be  allowed  to  keep  them,  if  you  have  no  -objection ;  and  the 
sketch  of  Ulva,  that  you  made  on  the  deck  of  the  Umpire,  when 
we  were  coming  back  from  lona,  I  would  like  to  keep  that,  if  you 
have  no  objection.     And  I  remain  your  faithful  friend, 

"  Keith  Macleod." 

Now,  at  the  moment  he  was  writing  this  letter,  Lady  Macleod 
and  her  niece  were  together;  the  old  lady  at  her  spinning-wheel, 
the  younger  one  sewing ;  and  Janet  Macleod  was  saying, 

"  Oh,  auntie,  I  am  so  glad  Keith  is  going  away  now  in  the 
yacht !  and  you  must  not  be  vexed  at  all  or  troubled  if  he  stays 
a  long  time  ;  for  what  else  can  make  him  well  again  ?  Whv,  you 
know  that  he  has  not  been  Keith  at  all  of  late — he  is  quite  an- 
other man — I  do  not  think  any  one  would  recognize  liim.  And 
surely  there  can  be  no  better  cure  for  sleeplessness  than  the  rough 
work  of  the  yachting;  and  you  know  Keith  will  take  his  share, 
in  despite  of  Ilamish  ;  and  if  he  goes  away  to  the  South,  they 
will  have  watches,  and  he  will  take  his  watch  with  the  others,  and 
his  turn  at  the  helm.  Oh,  you  will  see  the  change  when  he  comes 
back  to  us !" 

The  old  lady's  eyes  had  slowly  filled  with  tears. 

"And  do  you  tliink  it  is  sleeplessness,  Janet,"  said  she,  "  that 
is  the  matter  with  our  Keith  ?  Ah,  but  you  know  better  than 
that,  Janet." 

Janet  Macleod's  face  grew  suddenly  red  ;  but  she  said,  hastily, 

"  Why,  auntie,  have  I  not  lieard  him  walking  up  and  down  all 


THE    WllITK-WlNGKD    DOVE.  357 

the  niglit,  wlictlicr  it  was  in  his  own  room  or  in  the  library  ? 
And  then  he  is  out  before  any  one  is  up :  oh  yes,  I  know  that 
when  you  cannot  sleep  the  face  grows  white  and  the  eyes  grow 
tired.  And  he  has  not  been  himself  at  all — going  away  like  that 
from  every  one,  and  having  nothing  to  say,  and  going  away  by 
himself  over  the  moors.  And  it  was  the  night  before  last  he 
came  back  from  Kinloch,  and  he  was  wet  through,  and  he  only 
lay  down  on  the  bed,  as  Ilamish  told  me,  and  would  have  slept 
there  all  the  night,  but  for  Hamish.  And  do  you  not  think  that 
was  to  get  sleep  at  last — that  he  had  been  walking  so  far,  and 
coming  through  the  shallows  of  Loch  Scridain,  too?  Ah,  but 
you  will  see  the  difference,  auntie,  when  lie  comes  back  on  board 
tbe  Umpire ;  and  we  will  go  down  to  tbe  shore,  and  we  will  be 
glad  to  see  him  that  day." 

"  Oh  yes,  Janet,"  the  old  lady  said,  and  the  tears  were  running 
down  her  face,  "  but  you  know — you  know.  And  if  he  had  mar- 
ried you,  Janet,  and  stayed  at  home  at  Dare,  there  would  have 
been  none  of  all  this  trouble.  And  now — what  is  there  now  ?  It 
is  the  young  English  lady  that  has  broken  his  heart ;  and  he  is 
no  longer  a  son  to  rae,  and  he  is  no  longer  your  cousin,  Janet ; 
but  a  broken-hearted  man,  that  does  not  care  for  anything.  And 
you  are  very  kind,  Janet;  and  you  would  not  say  any  harm  of 
any  one.  But  I  am  his  mother — I — I — well,  if  the  woman  was 
to  corae  here  this  day,  do  yon  think  I  would  not  speak  ?  It  was 
a  bad  day  for  us  all  that  he  went  a\vay — instead  of  marrying  you, 
Janet." 

"  I3ut  you  know  that  could  never  have  been,  auntie,"  said  the 
gentle- eyed  cousin,  though  there  was  some  conscious  flush  of 
pride  in  her  cheeks.     "  I  could  never  have  married  Keith." 

"  But  why,  Janet  ?" 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me,  auntie.  But  he  and  I — we  did 
not  care  for  each  other — I  mean,  we  never  could  have  been  mar- 
ried.    I  hope  you  will  not  speak  about  that  any  more,  auntie." 

"And  some  day  they  will  take  me,  too,  away  from  Dare,"  said 
the  old  dame,  and  the  spinning-wheel  was  left  unheeded ;  "  and  I 
cannot  go  into  the  grave  with  my  five  brave  lads — for  where  are 
they  all  now,  Janet  ? — in  Arizona  one,  in  Africa  one,  and  two  in 
the  Crimea,  and  my  brave  Ilector  at  Koniggratz.  But  that  is  not 
much ;  I  shall  be  meeting  them  all  together ;  and  do  you  not  think 
I  shall  be  glad  to  see  thom  all  together  again  just  as  it  was  in  the 


.-Job  MACLEOD    OF    DAUE. 

old  days ;  and  they  will  come  to  meet  me ;  and  they  will  be  glad 
enough  to  have  the  mother  with  them  once  again.  But,  Janet, 
Janet,  how  can  I  go  to  them  ?  What  will  I  say  to  them  wlien 
they  ask  about  Keith — about  Keith,  my  Benjamin,  my  youngest, 
my  handsome  lad  ?" 

The  old  woman  was  sobbing  bitterly ;  and  Janet  went  to  her 
and  put  her  arms  round  her,  and  said, 

"  Why,  auntie,  you  must  not  think  of  such  things.  You  'will 
send  Keith  away  in  low  spirits,  if  you  have  not  a  bright  face  and 
a  smile  for  him  when  he  goes  away." 

"But  you  do  not  know — you  do  not  know,"  the  old  woman 
said,  "  what  Keith  has  done  for  me.  The  others — oh  yes,  they 
were  brave  lads ;  and  very  proud  of  their  name,  too ;  and  they 
would  not  disgrace  their  name,  wherever  they  went ;  and  if  they 
died — that  is  nothing ;  for  they  will  be  together  again  now,  and 
what  harm  is  there  ?  But  Keith,  he  was  the  one  that  did  more 
than  any  of  them  ;  for  he  stayed  at  home  for  my  sake ;  and  when 
other  people  were  talking  about  this  regiment  and  that  regiment, 
Keith  would  not  tell  me  what  was  sore  at  his  heart ;  and  never 
once  did  he  say, '  Mother,  I  must  go  away  like  the  rest,'  though 
it  was  in  his  blood  to  go  away.  And  what  have  I  done  now  ? — 
and  what  am  I  to  say  to  his  brothers  when  they  come  to  ask 
me  ?  I  will  say  to  them,  *  Oh  yes,  he  was  the  handsomest  of  all 
my  six  lads ;  and  he  liad  the  proudest  heart,  too  ;  but  I  kept  him 
at  home — and  what  came  of  it  all  ?'  Would  it  not  be  better  now 
that  he  was  lying  buried  in  the  jungle  of  the  Gold  Coast,  or  at 
Koniggriitz,  or  in  the  Crimea  ?" 

"  Oh,  surely  not,  auntie !  Keith  will  come  back  to  us  soon  ; 
and  when  you  see  him  well  and  strong  again,  and  when  you  hear 
his  laugh  about  the  house,  surely  3^ou  will  not  be  wishing  that 
he  was  in  his  grave  ?  W'hy,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  to-day, 
auntie  ?" 

"  The  others  did  not  suffer  much,  Janet,  and  to  three  of  them, 
anyway,  it  was  only  a  bullet,  a  cry,  and  then  the  death-sleep  of  a 
brave  man  and  the  grave  of  a  Macleod.  But  Keith,  Janet — he  is 
my  youngest — he  is  nearer  to  my  heart  than  any  of  them :  do 
you  not  see  his  face  ?" 

"  Yes,  auntie,"  Janet  Macleod  said,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  but  he 
will  get  over  that.     He  will  come  back  to  us  strong  and  well." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  will  come  back  to  us  strong  and  well !"  said  the 


THE    WHITE-WINGED    UOVE.  359 

old  laciy,  almost  v/ildly,  and  slio  rose,  and  her  face  was  pale. 
"But  I  think  it  is  a  good  thing  for  that  woman  that  my  other 
sons  are  all  av.'ay  now;  for  they  had  quick  tenipers,  those  lads; 
and  they  would  not  like  to  see  their  brother  murdered." 

"Murdered,  auntie!" 

Lady  Macleod  would  have  answered  in  the  same  wild,  passion- 
ate way ;  but  at  this  very  moment  her  son  entered.  She  turned 
quickly  ;  she  almost  feared  to  meet  the  look  of  this  haggard 
face.     But  Keith  Macleod  said,  quite  cheerfully, 

"  Well  now,  Janet,  and  will  you  go  round  to-day  to  look  at  the 
Umpire?  And  will  you  come  too,  mother?  Oh,  she  is  made 
very  smart  now ;  just  as  if  we  were  all  going  away  to  see  the 
Queen." 

"I  cannot  go  to-day,  Keith,"  said  his  mother;  and  she  left 
the  room  before  he  had  time  to  notice  that  she  was  strangely 
excited. 

"And  I  think  I  will  go  some  other  day,  Keith,"  his  cousin 
said,  gently,  "just  before  you  start,  that  I  may  be  sure  you  have 
not  forgotten  anything.  And,  of  course,  you  will  take  the  ladies' 
cabin,  Keith,  for  yourself;  for  there  is  more  light  in  that,  and  it 
is  farther  away  from  the  smell  of  the  cooking  in  the  morning. 
And  how  can  you  be  going  to-day,  Keith,  when  it  is  the  man 
from  Greenock  will  be  here  soon  now  ?" 

"  Why,  I  forgot  that,  Janet,"  said  he,  laughing  in  a  nervous 
way — "  I  forgot  that,  though  I  was  talking  to  Hamish  about  him 
only  a  little  while  ago.  And  I  think  I  might  as  well  go  out  to 
meet  the  Pioneer  myself,  if  the  boat  has  not  left  yet.  Is  there 
anything  you  would  like  to  get  from  Oban,  Janet  ?" 

"  No,  nothing,  thank  you,  Keith,"  said  she  ;  and  then  he  left ; 
and  he  was  in  time  to  get  into  the  big  sailing-boat  before  it  went 
out  to  meet  the  steamer. 

This  cousin  of  Hamish,  who  jumped  into  the  boat  when  Mac- 
leod's  letter  had  been  handed  up  to  the  clerk,  was  a  little,  black- 
haired  Celt,  beady -eyed,  nervous,  but  with  the  affectation  of  a 
sailor's  bluffness,  and  he  wore  rings  in  his  ears.  However,  when 
he  was  got  ashore,  and  taken  into  the  library,  Macleod  very 
speedily  found  out  that  the  man  had  some  fair  skill  in  naviga- 
tion, and  that  he  had  certainly  been  into  a  good  number  of  ports 
in  his  lifetime.  And  if  one  were  taking  the  Umpire  into  the 
mouth  of  the  Thames,  now  ?     Mr.  Laing  looked  doubtfully  at  the 


3t)0  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 

general  cliart  Macleod  had  ;  lie  said  he  would  rather  have  a  spo 
cial  chart,  •which  he  could  get  at  Greenock ;  for  there  were  a 
great  many  banks  about  the  mouth  of  the  Thames  ;  and  he 
was  not  sure  that  he  could  remember  the  channel.  And  if  one 
wished  to  go  farther  up  the  river,  to  some  anchorage  in  commu- 
nication by  rail  with  London  ?  Oh  yes,  there  was  Erith.  And 
if  one  would  rather  have  moorings  than  an  anchorage,  so  that 
one  might  slip  away  without  trouble  when  the  tide  and  wind 
were  favorable  ?  Oh  yes,  there  was  nothing  simpler  than  that. 
There  were  many  yachts  about  Erith  ;  and  surely  the  pier-master 
could  get  the  Umpire  the  loan  of  moorings.  All  through  Cas- 
tle Dare  it  was  understood  that  there  was  no  distinct  destination 
marked  down  for  the  Umpire  on  this  suddenly-arranged  voyage 
of  hers ;  but  all  the  same  Sir  Keith  Macleod's  inquiries  went  no 
farther,  at  present  at  least,  than  the  river  Thames. 

There  came  another  letter  in  dainty  pink ;  and  this  time  there 
was  less  trembling  in  the  handwriting,  and  there  was  a  greater 
frankness  in  the  wording  of  the  note. 

"Dear  Keith,"  Miss  White  wrote,  "  I  would  like  to  have  the 
letters ;  as  for  the  little  trifles  you  mention,  it  does  not  much 
matter.  You  have  not  said  that  you  forgive  me ;  perhaps  it  is 
asking  too  much  ;  but  believe  me  you  will  find  some  day  it  was 
all  for  the  best.  It  is  better  now  than  later  on.  I  had  my  fears 
from  the  beginning ;  did  not  I  tell  you  that  I  was  never  sure  of 
myself  for  a  day  ?  and  I  am  sure  papa  warned  me.  I  cannot 
make  you  any  requital  for  the  great  generosity  and  forbearance 
you  show  to  me  now ;  but  I  would  like  to  be  allowed  to  remain 
your  friend.  G.  W." 

"P.S.  —  I  am  deeply  grieved  to  hear  of  your  being  ill,  but 
hope  it  is  only  something  quite  temporary.  You  could  not  have 
decided  better  than  on  taking  a  long  sea-voyage.  I  hope  you 
will  have  fine  weather." 

All  this  was  very  pleasant.  They  had  got  into  the  region  of 
correspondence  again ;  and  Miss  "White  was  then  mistress  of  the 
situation.  His  answer  to  her  was  less  cheerful  in  tone.  It  ran 
thus : 

"Dear  Gertrude, — To-morrow  morning  I  leave  Dare.     I 


THE    WHITE-WINGED    D0\  x..  361 

have  made  up  your  letters,  etc.,  in  a  packet ;  but  as  I  would  like 
to  see  Noruian  Ogilvie  before  going  farther  south,  it  is  possible 
we  may  run  into  the  Thames  for  a  day  ;  and  so  I  have  taken  the 
packet  with  me,  and,  if  I  see  Ogilvie,  I  will  give  it  to  him  to  put 
into  your  hands.  And  as  this  may  be  the  last  time  that  I  shall 
ever  write  to  you,  I  may  tell  you  now  there  is  no  one  anywhere 
more  earnestly  hopeful  than  I  that  you  may  live  a  long  and  hap- 
py life,  not  troubled  by  any  thinking  of  what  is  past  and  irrevo- 
cable.    Yours  faithfully,  Keith  Macleod." 

So  there  was  an  end  of  correspondence.  And  now  came  this 
beautiful  morning,  with  a  fine  north-westerly  breeze  blowing,  and 
the  Uraipire,  with  her  main-sail  and  jib  set,  and  her  gay  pennon 
and  ensign  fluttering  in  the  wind,  rocking  gently  down  there  at 
her  moorings.  It  was  an  auspicious  morning ;  of  itself  it  was 
enough  to  cheer  up  a  heart-sick  man.  The  white  sea-birds  Avere 
calling ;  and  Ulva  was  shining  green ;  and  the  Dutchman's  Cap 
out  there  was  of  a  pale  purple- blue;  while  away  in  the  south 
there  was  a  vague  silver  mist  of  heat  lying  all  over  the  Ross  of 
Mull  and  lona.  And  the  proud  lady  of  Castle  Dare  and  Janet, 
and  one  or  two  others  more  stealthily,  were  walking  down  to  the 
pier  to  see  Keith  Macleod  set  sail ;  but  Donald  was  not  there — 
there  was  no  need  for  Donald  or  his  pipes  on  board  the  yacht. 
Donald  was  up  at  the  house,  and  looking  at  the  people  going 
down  to  the  quay,  and  saying  bitterly  to  himself,  "It  is  no  more 
thought  of  the  pipes,  now,  that  Sir  Keith  has,  ever  since  the  Eng- 
lish lady  was  at  Dare ;  and  he  thinks  I  am  better  at  work  iu 
looking  after  the  dogs," 

Suddenly  Macleod  stopped,  and  took  out  a  pencil  and  wrote 
something  on  a  card. 

"  I  was  sure  I  had  forgotten  something,  Janet,"  said  he.  "  That 
is  the  address  of  Johnny  Wickes's  mother.  We  were  to  send 
him  up  to  see  her  some  time  before  Christmas." 

"  Before  Christmas !"  Janet  exclaimed  ;  and  she  looked  at  him 
in  amazement.  "But  you  are  coming  back  before  Christmas, 
Keith !" 

"Oh,  well,  Janet,"  said  he,  carelessly,  "you  know  that  when 
one  goes  away  on  a  voyage  it  is  never  certain  about  your  com- 
ing back  at  all,  and  it  is  better  to  leave  everything  right." 

"But  you  are  not  going  away  from  us  with  thoughts  like  these 

16 


362.  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

in  your  head,  surely  ?"  the  cousin  said.  "  Why,  the  man  from 
Greenock  says  you  could  go  to  America  in  the  Umpire ;  and  if 
you  could  go  to  America,  there  ■will  not  be  much  risk  in  the 
calmer  seas  of  the  South.  And  you  know,  Keith,  auntie  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  trouble  about  Avriting  letters  to  us;  for  you. 
Avill  have  enough  trouble  in  looking  after  the  yacht ;  but  you  will 
send  us  a  telegram  from  the  various  places  you  put  into." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  will  do  that,"  said  he,  somewhat  absently.  Even 
the  bustle  of  departure  and  the  brightness  of  the  morning  had 
failed  to  put  color  and  life  into  the  haggard  face  and  the  hope- 
less eyes. 

That  Avas  a  sorrowful  leave-taking  at  the  shore ;  and  Macleod, 
standing  on  the  deck  of  the  yacht,  could  see,  long  after  they  had 
set  sail,  that  his  mother  and  cousin  were  still  on  the  small  quay 
watching  the  Umpire  so  long  as  she  was  in  sight.  Then  they 
rounded  the  Ross  of  Mull,  and  he  saw  no  more  of  the  women  of 
Castle  Dare. 

And  this  beautiful  white  •  sailed  vessel  that  is  going  south 
through  the  summer  seas :  surely  she  is  no  deadly  instrument  of 
vengeance,  but  only  a  messenger  of  peace?  LfOok,  now,  how  she 
has  passed  through  the  Sound  of  lona ;  and  the  white  sails  are 
shining  in  the  light ;  and  far  away  before  her,  instead  of  the  isl- 
ands with  which  she  is  familiar,  are  other  islands — another  Col- 
onsay  altogether,  and  Islay,  and  Jura,  and  Scarba,  all  a  pale  trans- 
parent blue.  And  what  will  the  men  on  the  lonely  Dubh-Artach 
rock  think  of  her  as  they  see  her  pass  by  ?  Why,  surely  that 
she  looks  like  a  beautiful  white  dove.  It  is  a  summer  day ;  the 
winds  are  soft:  fly  south,  then,AYhite  Dove,  and  carry  to  her  this 
message  of  tenderness,  and  entreaty,  and  peace !  Surely  the  gen- 
tle ear  will  listen  to  you,  before  the  winter  comes  and  the  skies 
grow  dark  overhead,  and  there  is  no  white  dove  at  all,  but  an 
angry  sea-eagle,  with  black  wings  outspread  and  talons  ready  to 
strike.  Oh,  what  is  the  sound  in  the  summer  air?  Is  it  the 
singing  of  the  sea-maiden  of  Colonsay,  bewailing  still  the  loss  of 
her  lover  in  other  years?  We  cannot  stay  to  listen  ;  the  winds 
are  fair;  fly  southward,  and  still  southward,  oh  you  beautiful 
White  Dove,  and  it  is  all  a  message  of  love  and  of  peace  that  you 
will  whisper  to  her  ear  1 


7W~«W'f!WWli^^ 


DOVE,   OR    SEA-EAGLE?  3G3 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

DOVE,    OR    SEA-EAGLE? 

But  there  are  no  fine  visions  troubling  the  mind  of  Ilamish 
as  he  stands  here  by  the  tiller  in  eager  consultation  with  Colin 
Laing,  who  has  a  chart  outspread  before  him  on  the  deck.  There 
is  pride  in  the  old  man's  face.  He  is  proud  of  the  performances 
of  the  yacht  he  has  sailed  for  so  many  years ;  and  proud  of  liim- 
self  for  having  brought  her — always  subject  to  the  advice  of  his 
cousin  from  Greenock  —  in  safety  through  the  salt  sea  to  the 
smooth  waters  of  the  great  river.  And,  indeed,  this  is  a  strange 
scene  for  the  Umpire  to  find  around  her  in  the  years  of  her  old 
ao-e.  For  instead  of  the  giant  cliffs  of  Gribun  and  Bonrg  there 
is  only  the  thin  green  line  of  the  Essex  coast ;  and  instead  of  the 
rushing  Atlantic  there  is  the  broad  smooth  surface  of  this  coffee- 
colored  stream,  splashed  with  blue  where  the  ripples  catch  the 
reflected  light  of  the  sky.  There  is  no  longer  the  solitude  of 
Ulva  and  Colonsay,  or  the  moaning  of  the  waves  round  the  lone- 
ly shores  of  Fladda,  and  Staffa,  and  the  Dutchman  ;  but  the  ea- 
ger, busy  life  of  the  great  river  —  a  black  steamer  puffing  and 
roaring,  russet-sailed  barges  going  smoothly  with  the  tide,  a  tug 
bearing  a  large  green-hulled  Italian  ship  through  the  lapping 
waters,  and  everywhere  a  swarming  fry  of  small  boats  of  every 
description.  It  is  a  beautiful  summer  morning,  though  there  i3 
a  pale  haze  lying  along  the  Essex  woods.  The  old  Umpire,  with 
the  salt  foam  of  the  sea  incrusted  on  her  bows,  is  making  her 
first  appearance  in  the  Thames. 

"  And  where  are  we  going,  Uamish,"  says  Colin  Laing,  in  the 
Gaelic,  "  when  we  leave  this  place?" 

"  When  you  are  told,  then  you  will  know,"  says  Hamish. 

*'  You  had  enouffli  talk  of  it  last  night  in  the  cabin.  I  thought 
you  were  never  coming  out  of  the  cabin,"  says  the  cousin  from 
Greenock. 

"And  if  I  have  a  master,  I  obey  my  master  without  speaking," 
Hamish  answers. 


304  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  "Well,  it  is  a  strange  master  you  have  got.  Ob,  you  do  not 
know  about  these  things,  Ilamish.  Do  you  know  what  a  gentle- 
man  who  has  a  yacht  would  do  when  lie  got  into  Gravesend  as 
we  got  in  last  night?  "Why,  he  would  go  ashore,  and  have  his 
dinner  in  a  hotel,  and  drink  four  or  five  different  kinds  of  wine, 
and  go  to  the  theatre.  But  your  master,  Hamish,  what  does  he 
do?  He  stays  on  board,  and  sends  ashore  for  time-tables  and 
such  things;  and  what  is  more  than  that,  he  is  on  deck  all  night, 
walking  up  and  down.  Oh  yes ;  I  heard  him  walking  up  and 
down  all  night,  with  the  yacht  lying  at  anchor !" 

"  Sir  Keith  is  not  well.  When  a  man  is  not  well  he  does  not 
act  in  an  ordinary  way.  But  you  talk  of  my  master,"  Hamish 
answered,  proudly.  "  Well,  I  will  tell  you  about  my  master,  Col- 
in— that  he  is  a  better  master  than  any  ten  thousand  masters  that 
ever  were  born  in  Greenock,  or  in  London  either.  I  will  not  al- 
low any  man  to  say  anything  against  my  master." 

"I  was  not  saying  anything  against  your  master.  He  is  a 
wiser  man  than  you,  Hamish.  For  he  was  saying  to  me  last 
night, '  Now,  when  I  am  sending  Hamish  to  such  and  such  places 
in  London,  you  must  go  with  him,  and  show  him  the  trains,  and 
cabs,  and  other  things  like  that.'  Oh  yes,  Hamish,  you  know  how 
to  sail  a  yacht ;  but  you  do  not  know  anything  about  towns." 

"And  v.-ho  would  want  to  know  anything  about  towns?  Are 
they  not  full  of  people  who  live  by  telling  lies  and  cheating  each 
other  ?" 

"And  do  you  say  that  is  how  I  have  been  able  to  buy  my 
house  at  Greenock,"  said  Colin  Laing,  angrily,  "  with  a  garden, 
and  a  boat-house,  too  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  about  that,"  said  Hamish  ;  and  then  he  called 
out  some  order  to  one  of  the  men.  Macleod  was  at  this  moment 
down  in  the  saloon,  seated  at  the  table,  with  a  letter  enclosed  and 
addressed  lying  before  him.  But  surely  this  was  not  the  same 
man  who  had  been  in  these  still  waters  of  the  Thames  in  the  by- 
gone days — with  gay  companions  around  him,  and  the  band  play- 
ing "  A  Highland  Lad  my  Love  was  born,"  and  a  beautiful-eyed 
girl,  whom  he  called  Rose-leaf,  talking  to  him  in  the  quiet  of  the 
summer  noon.  This  man  had  a  look  in  his  eyes  like  that  of  an 
animal  that  has  been  hunted  to  death,  and  is  fain  to  lie  down  and 
give  itself  up  to  its  pursuers  in  the  despair  of  utter  fatigue.  He 
was  looking  at  this  letter.     The  composition  of  it  had  cost  him 


DOVE,   OR    SEA-EAGLE?  3C5 

only  a  whole  iiiglit's  agony.     And  when  lie  sat  down  and  wrote 
it  in  the  blue-gray  dawn,  what  had  he  not  cast  away  ? 

"Oh  no,"  he  was  saying  now  to  his  own  conscience,  "she  will 
not  call  it  deceiving !  She  will  laugh  when  it  is  all  over — she 
will  call  it  a  stratagem — she  will  say  that  a  drowning  man  will 
catch  at  anything.  And  this  is  the  last  effort — but  it  is  only  a 
stratagem  :  she  herself  will  absolve  me,  when  she  laughs  and  says, 
'  Oh,  how  could  you  have  treated  the  poor  theatres  so  ?'  " 

A  loud  rattling  overhead  startled  him. 

"We  must  be  at  Erith,"  he  said  to  himself;  and  then,  after  a 
pause  of  a  second,  he  took  the  letter  in  his  hand.  He  passed  up 
the  companion-way.  Perhaps  it  was  the  sudden  glare  of  the  light 
around  that  falsely  gave  to  his  eyes  the  appearance  of  a  man  who 
had  been  drinking  hard ;  but  his  voice  was  clear  and  precise  as 
lie  said  to  Hamish, 

"  Now,  Ilamish,  you  understand  everything  I  have  told  you  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  Sir  Keith." 

"And  you  will  put  away  that  nonsense  from  your  head;  and 
when  you  sec  the  English  lady  that  you  remember,  you  will  be 
very  respectful  to  her,  for  she  is  a  very  great  friend  of  mine ;  and 
if  she  is  not  at  the  theatre,  you  will  go  on  to  the  other  address, 
and  Colin  Laing  will  go  with  you  in  the  cab.  And  if  she  comes 
back  in  the  cab,  you  and  Colin  will  go  outside  beside  the  driver, 
do  you  understand?  And  when  you  go  ashore,  you  will  take 
John  Cameron  with  you,  and  you  will  ask  the  pier-master  about 
the  moorings." 

"Oh  yes,  Sir  Keith;  have  you  not  told  me  before?"  Hamish 
eaid,  almost  reproachfully. 

"  You  are  sure  you  got  everything  on  board  last  night  ?" 

"  There  is  nothing  more  that  I  can  think  of.  Sir  Keith." 

"  Here  is  the  letter,  Hamish." 

And  so  he  pledged  himself  to  the  last  desperate  venture. 

Not  long  after  that  Hamish,  and  Laing,  and  John  Cameron 
went  in  the  dingy  to  the  end  of  Erith  pier,  and  left  the  boat 
there ;  and  went  along  to  the  head  of  the  pier,  and  had  a  talk 
with  the  pier-master.  Then  John  Cameron  went  back,  and  the 
other  two  vent  on  their  way  to  the  railway-station. 

"And  I  will  tell  you  this,  Hamish,"  said  the  little  black  Celt, 
who  swaggered  a  good  deal  in  his  walk,  "  that  when  you  go  in 
the  train  you  will  be  greatly  frightened ;  for  you  do  not  know 


36G  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

how  strong  the  engines  are,  and  liow  tlicy  -will  carry  you  tLrougli 
the  air." 

"  That  is  a  foolish  thing  to  say,"  answered  Hamish,  also  speak- 
ing in  the  Gaelic  ;  "  for  I  have  seen  many  pictures  of  trains  ; 
and  do  you  say  that  the  engines  are  bigger  than  the  engines  of 
the  Pioneer,  or  the  Dunara  Castle,  or  the  Clansman  that  goes  to 
Stornaway  ?  Do  not  talk  such  nonsense  to  inc.  An  engine  that 
runs  along  the  road,  that  is  a  small  matter;  but  an  engine  that 
can  take  you  up  the  Sound  of  Sleat,  and  across  the  Minch,  and  all 
the  way  to  Stornoway,  that  is  an  engine  to  be  talked  about !" 

But  nevertheless  it  was  with  some  inward  trepidation  that 
Hamish  approached  Erith  station  ;  and  it  was  with  an  awe-struck 
silence  that  he  saw  his  cousin  take  tickets  at  the  office  ;  nor  did 
he  speak  a  word  when  the  train  came  up  and  they  entered  and 
sat  down  in  the  carriag;e.  Then  the  train  moved  off,  and  Hamish 
breathed  more  freely  :  what  was  this  to  be  afraid  of  ? 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  you  would  be  frightened  ?"  Colin  Laiug 
said. 

"I  am  not  friglitened  at  all,"  Hamish  answered,  indignantly. 

But  as  the  train  began  to  move  more  quickly,  Hamish's  hands, 
tliat  held  firmly  by  the  wooden  seat  on  which  he  was  sitting, 
tightened  and  still  further  tightened  their  grasp,  and  his  teeth 
got  clinched,  while  there  was  an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes.  At 
length,  as  the  train  swung  into  a  good  pace,  his  fear  got  the  bet- 
ter of  him,  and  he  called  out, 

"  Colin,  Colin,  she's  run  away  !" 

And  then  Colin  Laing  laughed  aloud,  and  began  to  assume 
great  airs ;  and  told  Hamish  that  he  was  no  better  than  a  lad 
kept  for  herding  the  sheep,  who  had  never  been  av/ay  from  his 
own  home.  This  familiar  air  reassured  Hamish  ;  and  then  the 
train  stopping  at  Abbey  Wood  proved  to  him  that  the  engine 
was  still  under  control. 

"  Oh  yes,  Hamish,"  continued  liis  travelled  cousin,  "  you  will 
open  your  eyes  when  you  see  London  ;  and  you  will  tell  all  the 
people  when  you  go  back  that  you  have  never  seen  so  great  a 
place  ;  but  what  is  London  to  the  cities  and  the  towns  and  the 
palaces  that  I  have  seen  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Valparaiso, 
Hamish  ?  Oh  yes,  you  will  live  a  long  time  before  you  will  get 
to  Valparaiso  !  And  Rio  :  wh}',  I  have  known  mere  boys  that 
have  been  to  Rio,     And  you  can  sail  a  yacht  very  well,  Hamish ; 


DOVE,   OR    SEA-EAGLE?  367 

and  I  do  not  grumble  that  you  would  be  the  master  of  the  yacht, 
though  I  know  the  banks  and  the  channels  a  little  better  than 
you,  and  it  was  quite  right  of  you  to  be  the  master  of  the  yacht; 
but  you  have  not  seen  what  I  have  seen.  And  I  have  been 
where  there  are  mountains  and  mountains  of  gold — " 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool,  Colin  ?"  said  Hamish,  with  a  con- 
temptuous smile. 

"Not  quite  that,"  said  the  other,  "  but  am  I  not  to  believe  my 
own  eyes?" 

"And  if  there  were  the  great  mountains  of  gold,"  said  Ham- 
ish, "  why  did  you  not  fill  your  pockets  with  the  gold  ?  and  Avould 
not  that  be  better  than  selling  whiskey  in  Greenock?" 

"Yes;  and  that  shows  what  an  ignorant  man  you  arc,  Ham- 
ish," said  the  other,  with  disdain.  "  For  do  you  not  know  that 
the  gold  is  mixed  with  quartz,  and  you  have  got  to  take  the 
quartz  out  ?  But  I  dare  say  now  you  do  not  know  what  quartz 
is ;  for  it  is  a  very  ignorant  man  you  are,  although  you  can  sail 
a  yacht.  But  I  do  not  grumble  at  all.  You  are  master  of  your 
own  yacht,  just  as  I  am  the  master  of  my  own  shop.  But  if 
you  were  coming  into  my  shop,  Hamish,  I  would  say  to  you, 
'  Hamish,  you  are  the  master  here,  and  I  am  not  the  master  ;  and 
you  can  take  a  glass  of  anything  that  you  like.'  That  is  what 
people  who  have  travelled  all  over  the  world,  and  seen  princes 
and  great  cities  and  palaces,  call  2^oUtcness.  But  how  could  you 
know  anything  about  politeness?  You  have  lived  only  on  the 
west  coast  of  Mull ;  and  they  do  not  even  know  how  to  speak 
good  Gaelic  there." 

"That  is  a  lie,  Colin  !"  said  Hamish,  with  decision.  "We 
have  better  Gaelic  there  than  any  other  Gaelic  that  is  spoken." 

"Were  you  ever  in  Lochaber,  Hamish?" 

"  No,  I  was  never  in  Lochaber." 

"  Then  do  not  pretend  to  give  an  opinion  about  the  Gaelic — 
especially  to  a  man  who  has  travelled  all  over  the  world,  though 
perhaps  he  cannot  sail  a  yacht  as  well  as  you,  Hamish." 

The  two  cousins  soon  became  friends  again,  however.  And 
now,  as  they  were  approaching  London,  a  strange  thing  became 
visible.  The  blue  sky  grew  more  and  more  obscured.  The 
whole  world  seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  a  clear  brown  haze  of 
smoke. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Hamish,  "that  is  a  strange  thing," 


3G8  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  What  is  a  strange  thing,  Ilamish  ?" 

*'  I  was  reading  about  it  in  a  book  many  a  time — the  great  fire 
that  was  burning  in  London  for  years  and  years  and  years :  and 
have  they  not  quite  got  it  out  yet,  Colin  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  llaraish,"  said 
the  other,  who  had  not  much  book-learning,  "  but  I  will  tell  you 
this,  that  you  may  prepare  yourself  now  to  open  your  eyes.  Oh 
yes,  London  will  make  you  open  your  eyes  wide  ;  though  it  is 
nothing  to  one  who  has  been  to  Rio,  and  Shanghai,  and  Rotter- 
dam, and  other  places  like  that." 

Now  these  references  to  foreign  parts  only  stung  Ilamish's 
pride,  and  when  they  did  arrive  at  London  Bridge  he  was  de- 
termined to  show  no  surprise  whatever.  He  stepped  into  the 
four-wheeled  cab  that  Colin  Laing  chartered,  just  as  if  four- 
wheeled  cabs  were  as  common  as  sea-gulls  on  the  shores  of  Loch- 
na-Keal.  And  though  his  eyes  were  bewildered  and  his  ears 
dinned  with  the  wonderful  sights  and  sounds  of  this  great  roar- 
ing city — that  seemed  to  have  the  population  of  all  the  world 
pouring  through  its  streets  —  he  would  say  nothing  at  all.  At 
last  the  cab  stopped ;  the  two  men  were  opposite  the  Piccadilly 
Theatre. 

Then  Hamish  got  out  and  left  his  cousin  with  the  cab.  He 
ascended  the  wide  steps ;  he  entered  the  great  vestibule ;  and 
he  had  a  letter  in  his  hand.  The  old  man  had  not  trembled  so 
much  since  he  was  a  school-boy. 

"  What  do  you  want,  my  man  ?"  some  one  said,  coming  out  of 
the  box-office  by  chance. 

Hamish  showed  the  letter. 

"  I  wass  to  hef  an  answer,  sir,  if  you  please,  sir,  and  I  will  bo 
opliged,"  said  Hamish,  who  had  been  enjoined  to  be  very  courte- 
ous. 

"  Take  it  round  to  the  stage  entrance,"  said  the  man,  carelessly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  Hamish  ;  but  he  did  not  un- 
derstand ;  and  he  stood. 

The  man  looked  at  him;  called  for  some  one;  a  young  lad 
came,  and  to  him  was  given  the  letter. 

"You  may  wait  here,  then,"  said  he  to  Hamish;  "but  I  think 
rehearsal  is  over,  and  Miss  White  has  most  likely  gone  home." 

The  man  went  into  the  box -office  again;  Hamish  was  left 
alone  there,  in  the  great  empty  vestibule.     The  Piccadilly  The^- 


DOVE,    OH    bEA-EAGLE?  3G9 


trc  had  seldom  seen  within  its  walls  a  more  picturesque  figure 
than  this  old  Highlandman,  who  stood  there  with  his  sailor's  cap 
in  his  hand,  and  Avith  a  keen  excitement  in  tlic  proud  and  fine 
face.  There  was  a  watchfulness  in  the  gray  eyes  like  the  watch- 
fulness of  an  eagle.  If  he  twisted  his  cap  rather  nervously,  and 
if  his  heart  beat  quick,  it  was  not  from  fear. 

Now,  when  the  letter  was  brought  to  Miss  AVhite,  she  was 
standing  in  one  of  the  wino-s,  lauo-hino;  and  chattin<x  with  the  stairo 
manager.     The  laugh  went  from  her  face.     She  grew  quite  pale. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cartwright,"  said  she,  "  do  you  think  I  could  go 
down  to  Erith  and  be  back  before  six  in  the  eveninsx  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  why  not?"  said  he,  carelessly. 

But  she  scarcely  heard  him.  She  was  still  staring  at  that  sheet 
of  paper,  with  its  piteous  cry  of  the  sick  man.  Only  to  see  her 
once  more — to  shake  hands  in  token  of  forgiveness — to  say  good- 
bye for  the  last  time :  what  woman  with  the  heart  of  a  woman 
could  resist  this  despairing  prayer? 

"Where  is  the  man  who  brought  this  letter?"  said  she. 

"  In  front,  n^iss,"  said  the  young  lad,  "  by  the  box-office." 

Very  quickly  she  made  her  way  along  the  gloomy  and  empty 
corridors,  and  there  in  the  twilit  hall  she  found  the  gray-haired 
old  sailor,  with  his  cap  held  humbly  in  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  Hamish,"  said  she,  "  is  Sir  Keith  so  very  ill  ?" 

"  Is  it  ill,  mem  ?"  said  Ilamish  ;  and  quick  tears  sprang  to  the 
old  man's  eyes.  "  He  iss  more  ill  than  you  can  think  of,  mem  ; 
it  iss  anotlier  man  that  he  iss  now.  Aj',  ay,  who  would  know 
him  to  be  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?" 

"  He  wants  me  to  go  and  see  hin^ ;  and  I  suppose  I  liave  no 
time  to  go  home  first — " 

"  Here  is  the  list  of  the  trains,  mem,"  said  Ilamish,  eagerly, 
producing  a  certain  card.  "And  it  iss  me  and  Colin  Laing, 
that'ss  my  cousin,  mem  ;  and  we  hef  a  cab  outside ;  and  will  you 
go  to  the  station  ?  Oh,  you  will  not  know  Sir  Keith,  mem ; 
there  iss  no  one  at  all  would  knov/  my  master  now." 

"  Come  along,  then,  Hamish,"  said  she,  quickly.  "  Oh,  but  he 
cannot  be  so  ill  as  that.  And  the  long  sea-voyage  will  pull  him 
round,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"Ay,  ay,  mem,"  said  Hamish ;  but  he  was  paying  little  lieed. 
He  called  up  the  cab,  and  Miss  White  stepped  inside,  and  ho 
and  Colin  Laing  got  on  the  box. 

16* 


370  MACLEOD    OF    PAKE. 

"Tell  liiin  to  go  quickly,"  she  said  to  Hamisli,  "for  1  must 
have  something  instead  of  luncheon  if  we  have  a  minute  at  the 
station." 

And  Miss  White,  as  the  cab  rolled  away,  felt  pleased  with  her- 
self.    It  was  a  brave  act. 

"  It  is  the  least  I  can  do  for  the  sake  of  my  bonnie  Glenogie," 
she  was  saying  to  herself,  quite  cheerfully.  "And  if  Mr.  Lemuel 
were  to  hear  of  it?  Well,  he  must  know  that  I  mean  to  be  mis- 
tress of  my  own  conduct.  And  so  the  poor  Glenogie  is  really  ilk 
I  can  do  no  harm  in  parting  good  friends  with  him.  Some  men 
would  have  made  a  fuss." 

At  the  station  they  had  ten  minutes  to  wait ;  and  Miss  "White 
was  able  to  get  the  slight  refreshment  she  desired.  And  al- 
though Ilamish  would  fain  have  kept  out  of  her  way — for  it  was 
not  becoming  in  a  rude  sailor  to  be  seen  speaking  to  so  fine  a 
lady — she  would  not  allow  that. 

"And  where  are  you  going,  Hamish,  when  you  leave  the 
Thames  ?"  she  asked,  smoothing  the  fingers  of  the  glove  she  had 
just  put  on  again. 

"  I  do  not  know  that,  mem,"  said  he. 

"  I  hope  Sir  Keith  Avon't  go  to  Torquay  or  any  of  those  lan- 
guid places.     You  will  go  to  the  Mediterranean,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Maybe  that  will  be  the  place,  mem,"  said  Hamish. 

"  Or  the  Isle  of  Wight,  perhaps,"  said  she,  carelessly. 

"Ay,  ay,  mem — the  Isle  of  Wight — that  will  be  a  ferry  good 
place  now.  There  wass  a  man  I  wass  seeing  once  in  Tobber- 
morry,  and  he  wass  telling  me  about  the  castle  that  the  Queen 
herself  will  hef  on  tljat  island.  And  Mr.  Ross,  the  Queen's  piper, 
he  will  be  living  there  too." 

But,  of  course,  they  had  to  part  company  when  the  train  came 
up;  and  Ilamish  and  Colin  Laing  got  into  a  third-class  carriage 
together.  Tlie  cousin  from  Greenock  had  been  hanging  rather 
in  the  background ;  but  he  had  kept  his  ears  open. 

"Now,  Ilamish,"  said  he,  in  the  tongue  in  which  they  could 
both  speak  freely  enough,  "  I  will  tell  you  something ;  and  do 
not  think  I  am  an  ignorant  man,  for  I  know  what  is  going  on. 
Oh  yes.     And  it  is  a  great  danger  you  are  running  into." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Colin  ?"  said  Ilamish ;  but  he  would 
look  out  of  the  window. 

"  When  a  gentleman  goes  away  in  a  yacht,  does  he  take  an  old 


DOVE,   OR    SEA-EAGLE?  371 

woman  like  Christina  with  him  ?  Oh  no  ;  I  think  not.  It  is  not 
a  customary  thing.  And  the  ladies'  cabin ;  the  ladies'  cabin  is 
kept  very  smart,  Hamisli.  And  I  think  I  knov/  who  is  to  have 
the  ladies'  cabin." 

"  Then  you  arc  very  clever,  Colin,"  said  Ilamish,  contemptuous- 
ly. "  But  it  is  too  clever  you  are.  You  think  it  strange  that 
the  young  English  lady  should  take  that  cabin.  I  will  tell  you 
this — that  it  is  not  the  first  time  nor  the  second  time  that  the 
young  English  lady  has  gone  for  a  voyage  in  the  Umpire,  and  in 
that  very  cabin  too.  And  I  will  tell  you  this,  Colin ;  that  it  is 
this  very  year  she  had  that  cabin ;  and  was  iu  Loch  Tua,  and 
Loch-na-Keal,  and  Loch  Scridain,  and  Calgary  Bay.  And  as  for 
Christina — oh,  it  is  much  you  know  about  fine  ladies  in  Gree- 
nock! I  tell  you  that  an  English  lady  cannot  go  anywhere  with- 
out some  one  to  attend  to  her." 

"  Hamish,  do  not  try  to  make  a  fool  of  me,"  said  Laing,  angri- 
ly. "  Do  you  think  a  lady  v/ould  go  travelling  without  any  lug- 
gage ?     And  she  does  not  know  where  the  Umpire  is  going  1" 

"Do  you  know?" 

"  No." 

*'  Very  well,  then.  It  is  Sir  Keith  Macleod  who  is  the  master 
when  lie  is  on  board  the  Umpire,  and  where  he  wants  to  go  the 
others  have  to  go." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  that  ?  And  do  you  speak  like  that  to  a 
man  who  can  pay  eighty-five  pounds  a  year  of  rent  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  forget  that  it  is  a  kindness  to  me  that  you  are 
doing,  Colin ;  and  to  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  too  ;  and  he  will  not  for- 
get it.  But  as  for  this  young  lady,  or  that  young  lady,  what  has 
that  to  do  with  it  ?  You  know  what  the  bell  of  Scoon  said, '  That 
which  concerns  you  not,  meddle  not  with.''  " 

"I  shall  be  glad  when  I  am  back  in  Greenock,"  said  Colin 
Laing,  moodily. 

But  was  not  this  a  fine,  fair  scene  that  Miss  Gertrude  White 
saw  around  her  when  they  came  in  'sight  of  the  river  and  Erith 
pier  ? — the  flashes  of  blue  on  the  water,  the  white-sailed  yachts, 
the  russet  -  sailed  barges,  and  the  sunlight  shining  all  along  the 
thin  line  of  the  Essex  shore.  The  moment  she  set  foot  on  the 
pier  she  recognized  tlie  Umpire  lying  out  there,  the  great  white 
main-sail  and  jib  idly  flapping  in  the  summer  breeze :  but  there 
was  no  one  on  deck.     And  she  was  not  afraid  at  all ;  for  had  he 


872  MACLEOD    OF    DARE, 

not  written  in  so  kindly  a  fashion  to  ber;  and  was  she  not  doing 
much  for  his  sake,  too  ? 

"  Will  the  shock  be  great  ?"  she  was  thinking  to  herself.  "  I 
hope  my  bonnie  Glenogie  is  not  so  ill  as  that ;  for  he  always 
looked  like  a  man.  And  it  is  so  much  better  that  we  should 
part  good  friends." 

She  turned  to  Hamish. 

"  There  is  no  one  on  the  deck  of  the  yacht,  Hamish,"  said  she. 

"  No,  mem,"  said  he,  "  the  men  will  be  at  the  end  of  the  piei-, 
mem,  in  the  boat,  if  you  please,  mem." 

"  Then  you  took  it  for  granted  I  should  come  back  with  you  ?" 
said  she,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"I  wass  thinking  you  would  come  to  see  Sir  Keith,  mem," 
said  Hamish,  gravely.  His  manner  was  very  respectful  to  the 
fine  English  lady ;  but  there  was  not  much  of  friendliness  in  liis 
look. 

She  followed  Hamish  down  the  rude  wooden  steps  at  the  end 
of  tJie  pier ;  and  there  they  found  the  dingy  awaiting  them,  with 
two  men  in  her.  Hamish  was  very  careful  of  Miss  "\^^lite's  dress 
as  she  got  into  the  stern  of  the  boat;  then  he  and  Colin  Laing 
got  into  the  bow ;  and  the  men  half  paddled  and  half  floated  her 
along  to  the  Umpire — the  tide  having  begun  to  ebb. 

And  it  was  with  much  ceremony,  too,  that  Hamish  assisted 
Miss  White  to  get  on  board  by  the  little  gangway ;  and  for  a 
second  or  two  she  stood  on  deck  and  looked  around  her  while 
the  men  were  securing  the  dingy.  The  idlers  lounging  on  Erith 
pier  must  have  considered  that  this  was  an  additional  feature  of 
interest  in  the  summer  picture — the  figure  of  this  pretty  young 
lady  standing  there  on  the  white  decks  and  looking  around  her 
with  a  pleased  curiosity.  It  was  some  little  time  since  she  had 
been  on  board  the  Umpire. 

Then  Hamish  turned  to  her,  and  said,  in  the  same  respectful 
way, 

"  Will  you  go  below,  mem,  now  ?  It  iss  in  the  saloon  that  you 
will  find  Sir  Keith ;  and  if  Christina  iss  in  the  way,  you  will  tell 
her  to  go  away,  mem." 

The  small  gloved  hand  was  laid  on  the  top  of  the  companion, 
and  Miss  Wliite  carefully  went  down  the  wooden  steps.  And  it 
was  with  a  gentleness  equal  to  her  own  that  Hamish  shut  the  lit- 
tle doors  after  her. 


THE    PRISONER.  373 

But  no  sooner  had  sbe  quite  disappeared  than  the  old  man's 
manner  swiftly  changed.  He  caught  hold  of  the  companion' 
hatch,  jammed  it  across  with  a  noise  that  was  heard  throughout 
the  whole  vessel ;  and  then  he  sprang  to  the  helm,  with  the  keen 
gray  eyes  afire  with  a  wild  excitement. 

" her,  we  have  her  now  !"  he  said,  between  his  teeth  ;  and 

he  called  aloud:  "Hold  the  jib  to  weather  there!     Off  with  the 

moorings,  John  Cameron  !     her,  we  have  her  now  ! — and  it 

is  not  yet  that  she  has  put  a  shame  on  Macleod  of  Dare  1" 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE    PRISONER. 

The  sudden  noise  overhead  and  the  hurried  trampling  of  the 
men  on  deck  were  startling  enough ;  but  surely  there  was  noth- 
ing to  alarm  her  in  the  calm  and  serious  face  of  this  man  who 
stood  before  her.  He  did  not  advance  to  her.  He  regarded 
her  with  a  sad  tenderness,  as  if  he  were  looking  at  one  far  away. 
When  the  beloved  dead  come  back  to  us  in  the  wonder-halls  of 
sleep,  there  is  no  wild  joy  of  meeting :  there  is  something  strange. 
And  when  they  disappear  again,  there  is  no  surprise :  only  the 
dull  aching  returns  to  the  heart. 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he, "  you  are  as  safe  here  as  ever  you  wevo  in 
your  mother's  arras.     No  one  will  harm  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  she,  quickly. 

She  was  somewhat  bewildered.  She  had  not  expected  to  meet 
him  thus  suddenly  face  to  face.  And  then  she  became  aware 
that  the  companion-way  by  which  she  bad  descended  into  the 
saloon  had  gTown  dark  :  that  was  the  meaning  of  the  harsh  noise. 

"  I  -want  to  go  ashore,  Keith,"  said  she,  hurriedly.  *'  Put  me 
on  shore.     I  will  speak  to  you  there." 

"  You  cannot  go  ashore,"  said  he,  calmly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  she ;  and  her  heart  be- 
gan to  beat  hurriedly.  "  I  tell  you  I  want  to  go  ashore,  Keith. 
I  will  speak  to  you  there." 

"  You  cannot  go  ashore,  Gertrude,"  he  repeated.  "  We  have 
already  left  Erith.  *  *  *  Gerty,  Gerty,"  he  continued,  for  she  was 
stnick  dumb  with  a  sudden  terror,  "  don't  you  understand  now  ? 


^374  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

I  have  stolen  you  away  from  yourself.  There  was  but  the  one 
thing  left :  the  one  way  of  saving  you.  And  you  will  forgive 
nie,  Gerty,  when  you  understand  it  all — " 

She  was  gradually  recovering  from  her  terror.  She  did  under- 
stand it  now.     And  he  was  not  ill  at  all. 

"  Oh,  you  coward  !  you  coward  !  you  coward  1"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  blaze  of  fury  in  her  eyes.  "  And  I  was  to  confer  a  kind- 
ness on  you — a  last  kindness  !  But  you  dare  not  do  this  thing ! 
I  tell  you,  you  dare  not  do  it  1  I  demand  to  be  put  on  shore 
at  once  !     Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

She  turned  wildly  round,  as  if  to  seek  for  some  way  of  escape. 
The  door  in  the  ladies'  cabin  stood  open ;  the  daylight  was 
streaming  down  into  that  cheerful  little  place ;  there  were  some 
flowers  on  the  dressing-table.  But  the  way  by  which  she  had 
descended  was  barred  over  and  dark. 

She  faced  him  again,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  fierce  indigna- 
tion and  anger ;  she  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height  j  she  over- 
whelmed him  with  taunts,  and  reproaches,  and  scorn.  That  was 
a  splendid  piece  of  acting,  seeing  that  it  had  never  been  rehearsed. 
He  stood  unmoved  before  all  this  theatrical  rage. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  were  proud  of  your  name,"  she  was  saying,  with 
bitter  emphasis ;  "  and  I  thought  you  belonged  to  a  race  of  gen- 
tlemen, to  whom  lying  was  unknown.  And  you  were  no  longer 
murderous  and  revengeful ;  but  you  can  take  your  revenge  on  a 
woman,  for  all  that !  And  you  ask  me  to  come  and  see  you,  be- 
cause you  are  ill !     And  you  have  laid  a  trap — like  a  coward !" 

"And  if  I  am  what  you  say,  Gerty,"  said  he,  quite  gently,  "it 
is  the  love  of  you  that  has  made  me  that.    Oh,  you  do  not  know  1" 

She  saw  nothing  of  the  lines  that  pain  had  written  on  this 
man's  face  ;  she  recognized  nothing  of  the  very  majesty  of  grief 
in  the  hopeless  eyes.     He  was  only  her  jailer,  her  enemy. 

"  Of  course — of  course,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  w^oman — it  is 
always  the  woman  who  is  in  fault !  That  is  a  manly  thing,  to 
put  the  blame  on  the  woman !  And  it  is  a  manly  thing  to  take 
your  revenge  on  a  woman !  I  thought,  when  a  man  had  a  rival, 
that  it  was  his  rival  whom  he  sought  out.  But  you — you  kept 
out  of  the  way — " 

He  strode  forward  and  caught  her  by  the  wrist.  There  was  a 
look  in  his  face  that  for  a  second  terrified  her  into  silence. 

"Gerty,"  said  he,  "I  warn  you!     Do  not  mention  that  man 


THE    PRISONER,  375 

to  me — now  or  at  any  time;  or  it  will  be  bad  for  hiiu  and  for 

you!" 

She  twisted  licr  band  from  bis  grasp. 

"  How  dare  you  come  near  me !"  sbe  cried. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  be,  with  an  instant  return  to  bis 
former  grave  gentleness  of  mannei".  "  I  wish  to  let  you  know 
bow  you  are  situated,  if  you  will  let  me,  Gerty.  I  don't  wisb  to 
justify  what  I  have  done,  for  you  would  not  bear  me — just  }'et. 
But  tbis  I  must  tell  you,  tbat  I  don't  wisb  to  force  myself  on 
your  society.  You  will  do  as  you  please.  Tbere  is  your  cabin ; 
you  bave  occupied  it  before.  If  you  would  like  to  have  tbis  sa- 
loon, you  can  bave  tbat  too :  I  mean  I  sball  not  come  into  it  un- 
less it  pleases  you.  And  tbere  is  a  bell  in  your  cabin;  and  if 
you  ring  it,  Cbristina  will  answer." 

Sbe  beard  bim  out  patiently.  Her  reply  was  a  scornful,  per- 
haps nervous,  laugh. 

"  Why,  tbis  is  mere  folly,"  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  simple  mad- 
ness. I  begin  to  believe  tbat  you  are  really  ill,  after  all ;  and  it 
is  your  mind  tbat  is  affected.  Surely  you  don't  know  what  you 
are  doing  ?" 

"  You  are  angry,  Gerty,"  said  he. 

But  the  first  blaze  of  her  wrath  and  indignation  bad  passed 
away ;  and  now  fear  vras  coming  uppermost. 

"Surely,  Keith,  you  cannot  be  dreaming  of  such  a  mad  thing! 
Ob,  it  is  impossible !  It  is  a  joke :  it  was  to  frighten  me ;  it 
was  to  punish  me,  perhaps.  Well,  I  bave  deserved  it ;  but  now 
— now  you  have  succeeded;  and  you  will  let  me  go  ashore, 
farther  down  the  river." 

Her  tone  was  altered.     She  had  been  watching  his  face. 

"  Oh  no,  Gerty  ;  oli  no,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  not  understand 
yet  ?  You  were  everything  in  the  world  to  me ;  you  were  life 
itself.  Without  you  I  bad  nothing,  and  the  world  might  just 
as  well  come  to  an  end  for  me.  And  when  I  thought  you  were 
going  away  from  me,  what  could  I  do  ?  I  could  not  reach  you 
by  letters,  and  letters ;  and  bow  could  I  know  what  the  people 
around  you  were  saying  to  you  ?  Ah,  you  do  not  know  what  I 
have  sutfered,  Gerty !  And  always  I  was  saying  to  myself  tbat 
if  I  could  get  you  away  from  these  people,  you  would  remember 
the  time  that  you  gave  me  the  red  rose,  and  all  those  beautiful 
days  would  come  back  again,  and  I  would  take  your  hand  again, 


376  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

and  I  would  foro^et  altoo-ethcr  about  the  terrible  niirhts  vvlien  I 
saw  you  beside  me  and  heard  you  laugh  just  as  in  the  old  times. 
And  I  knew  there  was  only  the  one  way  left.  How  could  I  but 
try  that?  I  knew  you  would  be  angry,  but  I  hoped  your  anger 
would  go  away.  And  now  you  are  angry,  Gerty,  and  my  speak- 
ing to  you  is  not  of  much  use — as  yet ;  but  I  can  wait  until  I 
see  you  yourself  again,  as  you  used  to  be,  in  the  garden — don't 
you  remember,  Gerty  ?" 

Her  face  was  proud,  cold,  implacable. 

"Do  I  understand  you  aright:  that  you  have  shut  me  up  in 
this  yacht  and  mean  to  take  me  away  ?" 

"  Gerty,  I  liave  saved  you  from  yourself !" 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  where  we  are  going  ?" 

"  Why  not  away  back  to  the  Highlands,  Gerty  ?"  said  he, 
eagerly.  "And  then  some  day  when  your  heart  relents,  and  you 
forgive  me,  you  will  put  your  hand  in  mine,  and  we  will  walk 
up  the  road  to  Castle  Dare.  Do  you  not  think  they  will  be  glad 
to  see  us  that  day,  Gerty  ?" 

She  maintained  her  proud  attitude,  but  she  was  trembling  from 
head  to  foot. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  until  I  consent  to  be  your  wife  I 
am  not  to  be  allowed  to  leave  this  yacht?" 

"  You  will  consent,  Gerty  1" 

"  Not  if  I  were  to  be  shut  up  here  for  a  thousand  years!"  she 
exclaimed,  with  another  burst  of  passion.  "  Oh,  you  will  pay 
for  this  dearly  !  I  thought  it  was  madness — mere  folly ;  but  if 
it  is  true,  you  Avill  rue  this  day  !  Do  you  think  we  are  savages 
here  ?     Do  you  think  we  have  no  law  ?" 

"  I  do  not  care  for  any  law,"  said  he,  simply.  "  I  can  only 
think  of  the  one  thing  in  the  world.  If  I  have  not  your  love, 
Gerty,  what  else  can  I  care  about?" 

"  My  love  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  And  this  is  the  way  to  earn  it, 
truly !  My  love !  If  you  were  to  keep  me  shut  up  for  a  thou- 
sand years,  you  would  never  have  it !  You  can  have  my  hatred, 
if  you  like,  and  plenty  of  it,  too  !" 

"  You  are  angry,  Gerty  !"  was  all  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  know  Avith  whom  you  have  to  deal !"  she 
continued,  with  the  same  bitter  emphasis.  "You  terrified  me 
with  stories  of  butchery — the  butchery  of  innocent  women  and 
children ;  and  no  doubt  you  thought  the  stories  Avere  fine ;  and 


THE    PRISONER.  377 

now  you  too  would  show  you  are  one  of  tlic  race  by  tating  rc^ 
venge  on  a  woman.  But  if  slie  is  only  a  woman,  you  have  not 
conquered  her  yet !  Ob,  you  will  find  out  before  long  that  we 
have  law  in  this  country,  and  that  it  is  not  to  be  outraged  with 
impunity.  You  think  you  can  do  as  you  like,  because  you  are  a 
Highland  master,  and  you  have  a  lot  of  slaves  round  you !" 

"I  am  going  on  deck  now,  Gerty,"  said  he,  in  the  same  sad 
and  gentle  way.  "  You  are  tiring  yourself.  Shall  I  send  Chris- 
tina to  you  ?" 

For  an  instant  she  looked  bewildered,  as  if  she  had  not  till  now 
comprehended  what  was  going  on ;  and  she  said,  quite  wildly, 

*'  Oh  no,  no,  no,  Keith  ;  you  don't  mean  what  you  say  !  You 
cannot  mean  it !  You  are  only  frightening  me !  You  will  put 
me  ashore — and  not  a  word  shall  pass  ray  lips.  We  cannot  be 
far  down  the  river,  Keith.  There  are  many  places  where  you 
could  put  me  ashore,  and  I  could  get  back  to  London  by  rail. 
They  won't  know  I  have  ever  seen  you.  Keith,  you  will  put  me 
ashore  now  ?" 

"And  if  I  were  to  put  you  ashore  now,  you  would  go  away, 
Gerty,  and  I  should  never  see  you  again — never,  and  never.  And 
what  would  that  be  for  you  and  for  me,  Gerty  ?  But  now  you 
are  here,  no  one  can  poison  your  mind ;  you  will  be  angry  for  a 
time ;  but  the  brighter  days  are  coming — oh  yes,  I  know  that : 
if  I  was  not  sure  of  that,  what  would  become  of  me?  It  is  a 
good  thing  to  have  hope — to  look  forward  to  the  glad  days :  that 
stills  the  pain  at  the  heart.  And  now  we  two  are  together  at 
last,  Gerty !  And  if  you  are  angry,  the  anger  will  pass  away ; 
and  we  will  go  forward  together  to  the  glad  days." 

She  was  listening  in  a  sort  of  vague  and  stunned  amazement. 
Both  her  anger  and  her  fear  were  slowly  yielding  to  the  bewil- 
derment of  the  fact  that  she  was  really  setting  out  on  a  voyage, 
the  end  of  which  neither  she  nor  any  one  living  could  know, 

"Ah,  Gerty,"  said  he,  regarding  her  with  a  strange  wistfulness 
in  the  sad  eyes, "  you  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  me  to  see  you 
again  !  I  have  seen  you  many  a  time — in  dreams;  but  you  were 
always  far  away,  and  I  could  not  take  your  hand.  And  I  said  to 
myself  that  you  were  not  cruel ;  that  you  did  not  wish  any  one 
to  suffer  pain.  And  I  knew  if  I  could  only  see  you  again,  and 
take  you  away  from  these  people,  then  your  heart  Avould  be  gen- 
tle, and  you  would  think  of  the  time  when  you  gave  me  the  red 


878  MACLEOD    OF   DARE. 

rose,  and  we  went  out  in  the  garden,  and  all  the  air  round  us  was 
so  full  of  gladness  that  we  did  not  speak  at  all.  Oh  yes ;  and  I 
said  to  myself  that  your  true  friends  were  in  the  North  ;  and  what 
would  the  men  at  Duhh-Artach  not  do  for  you,  and  Captain  Mac- 
allum  too,  when  they  knew  you  were  coming  to  live  at  Dare ; 
and  I  was  thinking  that  would  be  a  grand  day  when  you  came  to 
live  among  us ;  and  there  would  be  dancing,  and  a  good  glass  of 
whiskey  for  every  one,  and  some  playing  on  the  pipes  that  day ! 
And  sometimes  I  did  not  know  whether  there  would  be  more  of 
laughing  or  of  crying  when  Janet  came  to  meet  you.  But  I  will 
not  trouble  you  any  more  now,  Gerty  ;  for  you  are  tired,  I  think  ; 
and  I  will  send  Christina  to  you.  And  you  will  soon  think  that 
I  was  not  cruel  to  you  when  I  took  you  away  and  saved  you  from 
yourself." 

She  did  not  answer;  she  seemed  in  a  sort  of  trance.  But  she 
was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  Christina,  who  came  in  directly 
after  Macleod  left.  Miss  White  stared  at  this  tall  white-haired 
woman,  as  if  uncertain  how  to  address  her;  when  she  spoke,  it 
was  in  a  friendly  and  persuasive  way. 

"You  have  not  forgotten  me,  then,  Christina?" 

"  No,  mem,"  said  the  grave  Highland  woman.  She  had  beau- 
tiful, clear,  blue-gray  eyes,  but  there  was  no  pity  in  them. 

" I  suppose  you  have  no  part  in  this  mad  freak?" 

The  old  woman  seemed  puzzled.  She  said,  with  a  sort  of  se- 
rious politeness, 

"  I  do  not  know,  mem.  I  have  not  the  good  English  as  Ilam- 
ish." 

"  But  surely  you  know  this,"  said  Miss  Gertrude  White,  with 
more  animation,  "that  I  am  here  against  my  will?  You  under- 
stand that,  surely  ?  That  I  am  being  carried  away  against  my 
will  from  my  own  home  and  my  friends?  You  know  it  very 
well ;  but  peihaps  your  master  has  not  told  you  of  the  risk  you 
Tun  ?  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  Do  you  think  there  are  no 
laws  in  this  country  ?" 

"  Sir  Keith  he  is  the  master  of  the  boat,"  said  Christina.  "  Iss 
there  anything  now  that  I  can  do  for  you,  mem  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  White,  boldly  ;  "  there  is.  You  can  help 
me  to  get  ashore.  And  you  will  save  your  master  from  being 
looked  on  as  a  madman.  And  you  will  save  yourselves  from 
being  hanged." 


THE    PRISONER.  379 

*I  wass  to  ask  you,"  said  the  old  Iligliland  woman,  "when 
you  would  be  for  having  the  dinner.  And  Ilamish,  he  wass  say- 
ing that  you  will  hef  the  dinner  what  time  you  are  thinking  of; 
and  will  you  hef  the  dinner  all  by  yourself  ?" 

"  I  tell  you  this,  woman,"  said  Miss  White,  with  quick  anger, 
"  that  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink  so  long  as  I  am  on  board  this 
yacht  1  What  is  the  use  of  this  nonsense  ?  I  wish  to  be  put  on 
shore.  I  am  getting  tired  of  this  folly.  I  tell  you  I  want  to  go 
ashore ;  and  I  am  going  ashore  ;  and  it  will  be  the  worse  for  any 
one  who  tries  to  stop  me  1" 

"  I  do  not  think  you  can  go  ashore,  mem,"  Christina  said, 
somewhat  deliberately  picking  out  her  English  phrases,  "for  the 
gig  is  up  at  the  davits  now ;  and  the  dingy — you  wass  not  think- 
ing of  going  ashore  by  yourself  in  the  dingy  ?  And  last  night, 
mem,  at  a  town,  we  had  many  things  brought  on  board ;  and  if 
you  would  tell  me  what  you  will  hef  for  the  dinner,  there  is  no 
one  more  willing  than  me.  And  I  hope  you  will  hef  very  good 
comfort  on  board  the  yacht." 

"  I  can't  get  it  into  your  head  that  you  are  talking  nonsense  !" 
said  Miss  White,  angrily.  "  I  tell  you  I  will  not  go  anywhere  in 
this  yacht !  And  what  is  the  use  of  talking  to  me  about  dinner  ? 
I  tell  you  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink  while  I  am  on  board  this 
yacht !" 

"  I  think  that  would  be  a  ferry  foolish  thing,  mem,"  Christina 
said,  humbly  enough ;  but  all  the  same,  the  scornful  fashion  in 
which  this  young  lady  had  addressed  her  had  stirred  a  little  of 
the  Highland  woman's  blood  ;  and  she  added — still  with  great 
apparent  humility — "  But  if  you  will  not  eat,  they  say  that  iss  a 
ferry  good  thing  for  the  pride  ;  and  there  iss  not  much  pride 
left  if  one  hass  nothing  to  eat,  mem." 

"  I  presume  that  is  to  be  my  prison  ?"  said  Miss  White,  haugh- 
tily, turning  to  the  smart  little  state-room  beyond  the  companion. 

"That  iss  your  cabin,  mem,  if  you  please,  mem,"  said  Christina, 
who  had  been  instructed  in  English  politeness  by  her  husband. 

"  Well,  now,  can  you  understand  this  ?  Go  to  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod,  and  tell  him  that  I  have  shut  myself  up  in  that  cabin  ;  and 
that  I  will  speak  not  a  word  to  any  one ;  and  I  will  neither  eat 
nor  drink  until  I  am  taken  on  shore.  And  so,  if  he  wishes  to 
have  a  murder  on  his  hands,  very  well !  Do  you  understand 
that?" 


380  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"I  will  say  that  to  Sir  KeitL,"  Christina  answered,  submis- 
sively. 

Miss  White  w^alked  into  the  cabin  and  locked  herself  in.  It 
was  an  apartment  with  which  she  was  familiar ;  but  where  had 
they  got  the  white  heather  ?  And  there  were  books ;  but  she 
paid  little  heed.  They  would  discover  they  had  not  broken  her 
spirit  yet. 

On  either  side  the  skylight  overhead  was  open  an  inch ;  and 
it  was  nearer  to  the  tiller  than  the  skylight  of  the  saloon.  In 
the  absolute  stillness  of  this  summer  day  she  heard  two  men 
talking.  Generally  they  spoke  in  the  Gaelic,  which  was  of  course 
unintelligible  to  her ;  but  sometimes  they  wandered  into  English 
— especially  if  the  name  of  some  English  town  cropped  up — and 
tlius  she  got  hints  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Umpire. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  a  fine  big  town  that  town  of  Gravesend,  to  be 
sure,  Hamish,"  said  the  one  voice, "  and  I  have  no  doubt,  now, 
that  it  will  be  sending  a  gentleman  to  the  Houses  of  Parliament 
in  London,  just  as  Greenock  will  do.  But  there  is  no  one  you 
will  send  from  Mull.  They  do  not  know  much  about  Mull  in 
the  Houses  of  Parliament." 

"And  they  know  plenty  about  ferry  much  worse  places,"  said 
Hamish,  proudly.  "And  wass  you  saying  there  will  be  any- 
thing so  beautiful  about  Greenock  ass  you  will  find  at  Tobber- 
morry  ?" 

"  Tobermory !"  said  the  other.  "  There  are  some  trees  at 
Tobermory — oh  yes ;  and  the  Misli-nish  and  the  shops — " 

"  Yess,  and  the  water-fahl — do  not  forget  the  water-fahl,  Col- 
in ;  and  there  iss  better  whiskey  in  Tobbermorry  ass  you  will 
get  in  all  Greenock,  where  they  will  be  for  mixing  it  with  prandy 
and  other  drinks  like  that;  and  at  Tobbermorry  you  will  hef  a 
Professor  come  ahl  the  way  from  Edinburgh  and  from  Oban  to 
gif  a  lecture  on  the  Gaelic ;  but  do  you  think  he  would  gif  a 
lecture  in  a  town  like  Greenock  ?  Oh  no ;  he  would  not  do 
that !" 

"Very  well,  Hamish;  but  it  is  glad  I  am  that  we  are  going 
back  the  way  we  came." 

"  And  me,  too,  Colin." 

"  And  I  will  not  be  sorry  when  I  am  in  Greenock  once  more." 

"  But  yon  will  come  with  us  first  of  all  to  Castle  Dare,  Colin," 
was  the  reply.     "  And  I  know  that  Lady  Macleod  herself  will 


THE    PRISONER.  381 

be  for  shaking  hands  with  you,  and  thanking  you  that  you  wais 
tek  the  care  of  the  yacht." 

"  I  think  I  will  stop  at  Greenock,  Ilamish.  You  know  you 
can  take  her  well  on  from  Greenock.  And  will  you  go  round 
the  Mull,  Hamish,  or  through  the  Crinan,  do  you  think  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  afrait  to  tek  her  round  the  Moil ;  but  there  is 
the  English  lady  on  board ;  and  it  will  be  smoother  for  her  to 
go  through  the  Crinan.  And  it  iss  ferry  glad  I  will  be,  Colin, 
to  see  Ardalanish  Point  again ;  for  I  would  rather  be  going 
through  the  Doruis  Mohr  twenty  times  ass  getting  petween  the 
panks  of  this  tamned  river." 

Here  they  relapsed  into  their  native  tongue,  and  she  listened 
no  longer ;  but,  at  all  events,  she  had  learned  that  they  were  go- 
ing away  to  the  North.  And  as  her  nerves  had  been  somewhat 
shaken,  she  began  to  ask  herself  what  further  thing  this  mad- 
man might  not  do.  The  old  stories  he  had  told  her  came  back 
with  a  marvellous  distinctness.  Would  he  plunge  her  into  a 
dungeon,  and  mock  her  with  an  empty  cup  when  she  was  dying 
of  thirst?  Would  be  chain  her  to  a  rock  at  low-water,  and 
watch  the  tide  slowly  rise?  He  professed  great  gentleness  and 
love  for  her ;  but  if  the  savage  nature  had  broken  out  at  last  I 
Her  fear  grew  apace.  He  had  shown  himself  regardless  of  ev- 
erything on  earth :  where  would  he  stop,  if  she  continued  to  re- 
pel him  ?  And  then  the  thought  of  her  situation — alone ;  shut 
up  in  this  small  room ;  about  to  venture  forth  on  the  open  sea 
with  this  ignorant  crew — so  overcame  her  that  she  hastily  snatch- 
ed at  the  bell  on  the  dressing-table  and  rang  it  violently.  Al- 
most instantly  there  was  a  tapping  at  the  door. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  mem,"  she  heard  Christina  say. 

She  sprang  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  and  caught  the  arm  of 
the  old  woman. 

"Christina,  Christina!"  she  said,  almost  wildly,  "you  won't  let 
them  take  me  away  ?  My  father  will  give  you  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  pounds  if  only  you  get  me  ashore !  Just  think  of 
him — he  is  an  old  man — if  you  had  a  daughter — " 

Miss  White  was  acting  very  well  indeed ;  though  she  was 
more  concerned  about  herself  than  her  father. 

"  I  wass  to  say  to  you,"  Christina  explained  with  some  diffi- 
culty, "  that  if  you  wass  saying  that.  Sir  Keith  had  a  message 
sent  away  to  your  father,  and  you  wass  not  to  think  any  moi'e 


382  MACLEOD    OF    DARE, 

abont  that.  And  now,  mem,  I  cannot  tek  you  ashore ;  it  iss  no 
business  I  hcf  witli  that ;  and  I  could  not  go  ashore  myself 
whateffcr ;  but  I  would  get  you  some  dinner,  mem." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  don't  understand  the  English  language!" 
Miss  White  exclaimed,  angrily.  "  I  tell  you  I  will  neither  eat 
nor  drink  so  long  as  I  am  on  board  this  yacht !  Go  and  tell  Sir 
Keith  Macleod  what  I  have  said." 

So  Miss  White  was  left  alone  again  ;  and  the  slow  time  passed ; 
and  she  heard  the  murmured  conversation  of  the  men ;  and  also 
a  measured  pacing  to  and  fro,  which  she  took  to  be  the  step  of 
Macleod.  Quick  rushes  of  feeling  went  through  her — indigna- 
tion, a  stubborn  obstinacy,  a  wonder  over  the  audacity  of  this 
thing,  malevolent  hatred  even ;  but  all  these  were  being  gradual- 
ly subdued  by  the  dominant  claim  of  hunger.  Miss  White  had 
acted  the  part  of  many  heroines ;  but  she  was  not  herself  a  hero- 
ine— if  there  is  anything  heroic  in  starvation.  It  was  growing  to 
dusk  when  she  again  summoned  the  old  Highland-woman. 

"  Get  me  something  to  eat,"  said  she ;  "  I  cannot  die  like  a  rat 
in  a  bole." 

"  Yes,  mem,"  said  Christina,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way ; 
for  she  had  never  been  in  a  theatre  in  her  life,  and  she  had  not 
imagined  that  Miss  White's  threat  meant  anything  at  all.  "  The 
dinner  is  just  ready  now,  mem ;  and  if  you  will  hef  it  in  the  sa- 
loon, there  wi41  be  no  one  there ;  that  wass  Sir  Keith's  message 
to  you." 

"  I  will  not  have  it  in  the  saloon  ;  I  will  have  it  here." 

"Ferry  well,  mem,"  Christina  said,  submissively.  "But  you 
Avill  go  into  the  saloon,  mem,  when  I  will  mek  the  bed  for  you, 
and  the  lamp  will  hef  to  be  lit,  but  Hamish  he  will  light  the  lamp 
for  you.  And  are  there  any  other  things  you  wass  thinking  of 
that  you  would  like,  mem  ?" 

"  No ;  I  want  something  to  eat." 

"And  Hamish,  mem,  he  wass  saying  I  will  ask  you  whether 
you  will  hef  the  claret-wine,  or — or — the  other  wine,  mem,  that 
meks  a  noise — " 

"  Bring  me  some  water.  But  the  whole  of  you  will  pny  dearly 
for  this  !" 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  mem  ?"  said  CliTistina,  with  great  respect. 

"Oh,  go  away,  and  get  me  something  to  eat !" 

And  in  fact  Miss  White  made  a  very  good  dinner,  though  the 


TUE    VOYAGE    OVER  383 

things  had  to  be  placed  before  her  on  lier  dressing-table.  And 
her  rage  and  indignation  did  not  prevent  her  having,  after  all,  a 
glass  or  two  of  the  claret-wine.  And  then  she  ])erniitted  Hani- 
ish  to  come  in  and  light  the  swinging-lamp  ;  and  1  hereafter  Chris- 
tina made  up  one  of  the  two  narrow  beds.  Miss  White  was  left 
alone. 

Many  a  hundred  times  had  she  been  placed  in  great  peril — on 
the  stage ;  and  she  knew  that  on  such  occasions  it  had  been  her 
duty  to  clasp  her  hand  on  her  forehead  and  set  to  work  to  find 
out  how  to  extricate  herself.  Well,  on  this  occasion  she  did  not 
make  use  of  any  dramatic  gesture  ;  but  she  turned  out  the  lamp, 
and  threw  herself  on  the  top  of  this  narrow  little  bed ;  and  was 
determined  that,  before  they  got  her  conveyed  to  their  savage 
home  in  the  North,  she  would  make  one  more  effort  for  her 
freedom.  Then  she  heard  the  man  at  the  helm  begin  to  hum 
to  himself  "jP/mV  a  hhata,  na  horo  eiley  The  night  darkened. 
And  soon  all  the  wild  emotions  of  the  day  were  forgotten ;  for 
she  was  asleep. 

******* 

Asleep — in  the  very  waters  through  which  she  had  sailed  with 
her  lover  on  the  white  summer  day.  But  Rose-leaf !  Rose-leaf! 
what  faint  wind  will  camj  you  now  to  the  South? 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE    VOYAGE    OVER. 

And  now  the  brave  old  Umpire  is  ncaring  her  Northern  home 
once  more  ;  and  surely  this  is  a  right  royal  evening  for  the  recep- 
tion of  her.  What  although  the  sun  has  just  gone  down,  and  the 
sea  around  them  become  a  plain  of  heaving  and  wrestling  blue- 
black  waves  ?  Far  away,  in  that  purple-black  sea,  lie  long  prom- 
ontories that  are  of  a  still  pale  rose-color;  and  the  western  sky 
is  a  blaze  of  golden-green  ;  and  they  know  that  the  Avild,  beauti- 
ful radiance  is  still  touching  the  wan  walls  of  Castle  Dare.  And 
there  is  Ardalanish  Point ;  and  that  the  ruddy  Ross  of  Mull ; 
and  there  will  be  a  good  tide  in  the  Sound  of  lona.  Why,  then, 
do  they  linger,  and  keep  the  old  Umpire  with  her  sails  flapping 
idly  in  the  wind  ? 


384  MACLEOD    OF    UARE. 

"  As  you  pass  through  Jura's  Sound 
Bend  your  course  l^y  Scarba's  shore ; 
Shun,  oh  shun,  the  gulf  profound 

Where  Corrievreckan's  surges  roar!" 

They  are  in  no  danger  of  Corrievreckan  now ;  they  are  in  famil- 
iar waters ;  only  that  is  another  Colonsay  that  lies  away  there  in 
the  south.  Keith  Macleod,  seated  up  at  the  bow,  is  calmly  re- 
garding it.  He  is  quite  alone.  There  is  no  sound  around  him 
but  the  lapping  of  the  waves. 

"  And  ever  as  the  year  returns, 

The  charm-bound  sailors  know  the  day ; 
For  sadly  still  the  Mermaid  mourns 
The  lovely  chief  of  Colonsay." 

And  is  he  listening  now  for  the  wild  sound  of  her  singing  ?  Or 
is  he  thinking  of  the  brave  Macphail,  who  went  back  after  seven 
long  months  of  absence,  and  found  the  maid  of  Colonsay  still 
true  to  him  ?  The  ruby  ring  she  had  given  him  had  never  paled. 
There  was  one  woman  who  could  remain  true  to  her  absent  lover. 

Haniish  came  forward. 

"  Will  we  go  on  now,  sir  V  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic. 

"No." 

Hamish  looked  round.     The  shining  clear  evening  looked  ^ 
calm,  notwithstanding  the  tossing  of  the  blue-black  waves.     And 
it  seemed  wasteful  to  the  old  sailor  to  keep  the  yacht  lying-to  or 
aimlessly  sailing  this  way  and  that  while  this  favorable  wind  re- 
mained to  them. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  the  breecze  will  last,  Sir  Keith." 

"Are  you  sure  of  anything,  Hamish?"  Macleod  said,  quite  ab- 
sently. "  Well,  there  is  one  thing  we  can  all  make  sure  of.  But 
I  have  told  you,  Hamish,  I  am  not  going  up  the  Sound  of  lona 
in  daylight :  why,  there  is  not  a  man  in  all  the  islands  who  would 
not  know  of  our  coming  by  to-morrow  morning.  We  will  go  u;, 
the  Sound  as  soon  as  it  is  dark.  It  is  a  new  moon  to-night ;  and 
I  think  we  can  go  without  lights,  Hamish." 

"  The  Dunara  is  coming  south  to-night,  Sir  Keith,"  the  old 
man  said. 

"  Why,  Hamish,  you  seem  to  have  lost  all  your  courage  as 
soon  as  you  put  Colin  Laing  ashore." 

"  Colin  Laing !     Is  it  Colin  Laing !"  exclaimed  Hamish,  indig- 


THE    VOYAGE    OVER. 


385 


nantly.  "  I  will  know  how  to  sail  this  yacht,  and  I  will  know 
the  banks,  and  the  tides,  and  the  rocks  better  than  any  fifteen 
thousands  of  Colin  Laings  !" 

"And  what  if  the  Dimara  is  coining  south?  If  she  cannot 
see  us,  we  can  see  her." 

But  whether  it  was  that  Colin  Laing  had,  before  leaving  the 
yacht,  managed  to  convey  to  Haniish  some  notion  of  the  risk  he 
was  running,  or  whether  it  was  that  he  was  merely  anxious  for 
his  master's  safety,  it  was  clear  that  Hamish  was  far  from  satis- 
fied, ne  opened  and  shut  his  big  clasp-knife  in  an  awkward  si- 
lence.    Then  he  said, 

"  You  will  not  go  to  Castle  Dare,  Sir  Keith  ?" 

Macleod  started ;  he  had  forgotten  that  Hamish  was  there. 

"  No.     I  have  told  you  where  I  am  going." 

"  But  there  is  not  any  good  anchorage  at  that  island,  sir !"  he 
protested.  "Have  I  not  been  round  every  bay  of  it;  and  you 
too,  Sir  Keith  ?  and  you  know  there  is  not  an  inch  of  sand  or  of 
mud,  but  only  the  small  loose  stones.  And  then  the  shepherd 
they  left  there  all  by  himself;  it  was  mad  he  became  at  last,  and 
took  his  own  life  too." 

Well,  do    you    expect   to    see  his   ghost  ?"    Macleod    said. 

ome,  Hamish,  you  have  lost  your  nerve  in  the  South.  Sure- 
Vj  ■' bu  are  not  afraid  of  being  anywhere  in  the  old  yacht  so  long 
;as  she  has  good  sea-room  around  her  ?" 

"And  if  you  are  not  wishing  to  go  up  the  Sound  of  lona  in 
tthe  daylight,  Sir  Keith,"  Hamish  said,  still  clinging  to  the  point, 
'"  we  could  bear  a  little  to  the  south,  and  go  round  the  outside  of 
lona." 

"  The  Dubh-Artach  men  would  recognize  the  Umpire  at  once," 
Macleod  said,  abruptly ;  and  then  he  suggested  to  Hamish  that 
he  should  get  a  little  more  way  on  the  yacht,  so  that  she  might 
he  a  trifle  steadier  when  Christina  carried  the  dinner  into  the 
tl^tiglish  lady's  cabin.  But  indeed  there  was  now  little  breeze  of 
^ny  kind.  Hamish's  fears  of  a  dead  calm  were  likely  to  prove 
.true. 

Meanwhile  another  conversation  had  been  going  forward  in 
the  small  cabin  below,  that  was  now  suffused  by  a  strange  warm 
'ight  reflected  from  the  evening  sky.  Miss  White  was  looking 
very  well  now,  after  her  long  sea-voyage.  During  their  first  few 
hours  in  blue  water  she  had  been  very  ill  indeed ;  and  she  re- 

lY 


386  MACLKOD    OF   DARE. 

peatedly  called  on  Christina  to  allow  lier  to  die.  The  old  High- 
land-woman came  to  the  conchision  that  English  ladies  were 
rather  childish  in  their  ways ;  but  the  only  answer  she  made 
to  this  reiterated  prayer  was  to  make  Miss  "White  as  comfortable 
as  was  possible,  and  to  administer  such  restoratives  as  she  thought 
desirable.  At  length,  when  recovery  and  a  sound  appetite  set 
in,  the  patient  began  to  show  a  great  friendship  for  Christina. 
There  was  no  longer  any  theatrical  warning  of  the  awful  fate  in 
store  for  everybody  connected  with  this  enterprise.  She  tried 
rather  to  enlist  the  old  woman's  sympathies  on  her  behalf,  and  if 
she  did  not  very  well  succeed  in  that  direction,  at  least  she  re- 
mained on  friendly  terms  with  Christina,  and  received  from  her 
the  solace  of  much  gossip  about  the  whereabouts  and  possible 
destination  of  the  ship. 

And  on  this  evening  Christina  had  an  important  piece  of  news. 

"  Where  have  we  got  to  now,  Christina  ?"  said  Miss  White, 
quite  cheerfully,  when  the  old  woman  entered. 

"  Oh  yes,  mem,  we  will  still  be  off  the  Mull  shore,  but  a  good 
piece  away  from  it,  and  there  is  not  much  wind,  mem.  But 
Hamish  thinks  we  will  get  to  the  anchorage  the  night  whatever,'* 

"The  anchorage  I"  Miss  White  exclaimed  eagerly.  "Where? 
You  are  going  to  Castle  Dare,  surely  ?" 

"  No,  mem,  1  think  not,"  said  Christina.  "  I  think  it  is  an 
island ;  but  you  will  not  know  the  name  of  that  island — there  is 
no  English  for  it  at  all." 

" But  where  is  it?    Is  it  near  Castle  Dare?" 

"  Oh  no,  mem ;  it  is  a  good  way  from  Castle  Dare ;  and  it  is 
out  in  the  sea.  Do  yoa  know  Gometra,  mem  ? — wass  you  ever 
going  out  to  Gometra  ?" 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  I  remember  something  about  it,  anyway." 

"  Ah,  well,  it  is  away  out  past  Gometra,  mem  ;  and  not  a  good 
place  for  an  anchorage  whatever ;  but  Hamish  he  will  know  all 
the  anchorages." 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  use  of  going  there  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  mem." 

"  Is  Sir  Keith  going  to  keep  me  on  board  this  boat  foreyer?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  mem."^ 

Christina  had  to  leave  the  cabin  just  then ;  when  she  returned 
sLe  said,  with  some  little  hesitation, 

"  If  I  wass  mekking  so  bold,  mem,  ass  to  say  this  to  you : 


THE    VOYAGE    OVER.  387 

Why  are  you  not  asking  the  questions  of  Sir  Keith  himself? 
He  will  know  all  about  it;  and  if  you  were  to  come  into  the 
saloon,  mem — " 

"Do  you  think  I  would  enter  into  any  communication  with 
him  after  his  treatment  of  me  ?"  said  Miss  White,  indignantly. 
"  No ;  let  him  atone  for  that  first.  When  he  has  set  me  at  lib- 
erty, then  I  will  speak  with  him ;  but  never  so  long  as  he  keeps 
me  shut  up  like  a  convict." 

"I  wass  only  saying,  mem,"  Christina  answered,  with  great 
respect,  "  that  if  you  were  wishing  to  know  where  we  were  going, 
Sir  Keith  will  know  that;  but  how  can  I  know  it?  And  you 
know,  mem.  Sir  Keith  has  not  shut  you  up  in  this  cabin  :  you  hef 
the  saloon,  if  you  would  please  to  hef  it." 

"Thank  you,  I  know!"  rejoined  Miss  White.  "If  I  choose, 
my  jail  may  consist  of  two  rooms  instead  of  one.  I  don't  ap- 
preciate that  amount  of  liberty.     I  want  to  be  set  ashore," 

"  That  I  hef  nothing  to  do  with,  mem,"  Christina  said,  hum- 
bly, proceeding  with  her  work. 

Miss  White,  being  left  to  think  over  these  things,  was  begin- 
ning to  believe  that,  after  all,  her  obduracy  was  not  likely  to  be 
of  much  service  to  her.  W^ould  it  not  be  wiser  to  treat  with  the 
enemy — perhaps  to  outwit  him  by  a  show  of  forgiveness  ?  Here 
they  were  approaching  the  end  of  the  voyage — at  least,  Christina 
seemed  to  intimate  as  much  ;  and  if  they  were  not  exactly  with- 
in call  of  friends,  they  would  surely  be  within  rowing  distance  of 
some  inhabited  island,  even  Gometra,  for  example.  And  if  only  a 
message  could  be  sent  to  Castle  Dare  ?  Lady  Macleod  and  Janet 
Macleod  were  women.  They  would  not  countenance  this  mon- 
strous thing.     If  she  could  only  reach  them,  she  would  be  safe. 

The  rose-pink  died  away  from  the  long  promontories,  and  was 
succeeded  by  a  sombre  gray ;  the  glory  in  the  west  sank  down ; 
a  wan  twilight  came  over  the  sea  and  the  sky ;  and  a  small  golden 
star,  like  the  point  of  a  needle,  told  where  the  Dubh-Artach  men 
had  lit  their  beacon  for  the  coming  night.  The  Umpire  lay  and 
idly  rolled  in  this  dead  calm ;  Macleod  paced  up  and  down  the 
deck  in  the  solemn  stillness.  Hamish  threw  a  tarpaulin  over 
the  skylight  of  the  saloon,  to  cover  the  bewildering  light  from  be- 
low ;  and  then,  as  the  time  went  slowly  by,  darkness  came  over 
the  land  and  the  sea.  They  were  alone  with  the  night,  and  the 
lapping  waves,  and  the  stars. 


388  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

About  ten  o'clock  there  was  a  loud  rattling  of  blocks  and  cord- 
age— the  first  pu2  of  a  coming  breeze  had  struck  her.  The  men 
were  at  their  posts  in  a  moment ;  there  were  a  few  sharp,  quick 
orders  from  Hamish  ;  and  presently  the  old  Umpire,  with  her 
great  boom  away  over  her  quarter,  was  running  free  before  a 
light  south-easterly  wind. 

"Ay,  ay  1"  said  Hamish,  in  sudden  gladness,  "we  will  soon  be 
by  Ardalanish  Point  with  a  fine  wind  like  this.  Sir  Keith ;  and  if 
you  would  rather  hef  no  lights  on  her — well,  it  is  a  clear  night 
whateffer ;  and  the  Dunara  she  will  hef  up  her  lights." 

The  wind  came  in  bits  of  squalls,  it  is  true ;  but  the  sky  over- 
head remained  clear,  and  tl".«  Ur^/nire  bowled  merrily  along. 
Macleod  was  still  on  deck.  They  rounded  the  Ross  of  Mull,  and 
got  into  the  smoother  waters  of  the  Sound.  Would  any  of  the 
people  in  the  cottages  at  Erraidh  see  this  gray  ghost  of  a  vessel 
go  gliding  past  over  the  dark  Avater?  Behind  them  burned  the 
yellow  eye  of  Dubh-Artach ;  before  them  a  few  small  red  points 
told  them  of  the  lona  cottages ;  and  still  this  phantom  gray 
vessel  held  on  her  way  The  Umpire  was  nearing  her  last 
anchorage. 

And  still  she  steals  onward,  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  She  has 
passed  through  the  Sound ;  she  is  in  the  open  sea  again ;  there 
is  a  callino:  of  startled  birds  from  over  the  dark  bosom  of  the 
deep.  Then  far  away  they  watch  the  lights  of  a  steamer:  but 
she  is  miles  from  their  course ;  they  cannot  even  hear  the  throb 
of  her  engines. 

It  is  another  sound  they  hear — a  low  booming  as  of  distant 
thunder.  And  that  black  thing  away  on  their  right — scarcely 
visibb  over  the  darkened  waves — is  that  the  channelled  and  sea- 
bird-haunted  Staffa,  trembling  through  all  her  caves  under  the 
shock  of  the  smooth  Atlantic  surge?  For  all  the  clearness  of  the 
starlit  sky,  there  is  a  wild  booming  of  waters  all  around  her  rocks ; 
and  the  giant  caverns  answer ;  and  the  thunder  shudders  out  to 
the  listening  sea. 

The  night  drags  on.  The  Dutchman  is  fast  asleep  in  his  vast 
Atlantic  bed;  the  dull  roar  of  the  waves  he  has  heard  for  millions 
of  years  is  not  likely  to  awake  him.  And  Fladda,  and  Lunga: 
surely  this  ghost-gray  ship  that  steals  by  is  not  the  old  Umpire 
that  used  to  visit  them  in  the  gay  summer-time,  with  her  red  en- 
sign flying,  and  the  blue  seas  all  around  her?    But  here  is  a  dark 


THE    VOYAGE    OVER.  389 

object  on  the  waters  that  is  growing  larger  and  larger  as  one  ap- 
proaches it.  The  black  outline  of  it  is  becoming  sharp  against 
the  clear  dome  of  stars.  There  is  a  gloom  around  as  one  gets 
nearer  and  nearer  the  bays  and  cliffs  of  this  lonely  island  ;  and 
now  one  hears  the  sound  of  breakers  on  the  rocks.  Hamish  and 
his  men  are  on  the  alert.  The  top-sail  has  been  lowered.  The 
lieavy  cable  of  the  anchor  lies  ready  by  the  windlass.  And  then, 
as  the  Um])ire  glides  into  smooth  water,  and  her  head  is  brought 
round  to  the  light  breeze,  away  goes  the  anchor  with  a  rattle  that 
awakes  a  thousand  echoes ;  and  all  the  startled  birds  among  the 
rocks  are  calling  through  the  night — the  sea-pyots  screaming 
shrilly,  the  curlews  uttering  their  warning  note,  the  herons  croak- 
ing as  they  wing  their  slow  fiig-ht  away  across  the  sea.  The  Um- 
pire has  got  to  her  anchorage  at  last. 

And  scarcely  was  the  anchor  down  when  they  brought  him  a 
message  from  the  English  lady.  She  was  in  the  saloon,  and 
wished  to  see  him.  He  could  scarcely  believe  this;  for  it  was 
now  past  midnight,  and  she  had  never  come  into  the  saloon  be- 
fore. But  he  went  down  through  the  forecastle,  and  throuo-h  his 
own  state-room,  and  opened  the  door  of  the  saloon. 

For  a  second  the  strong  light  almost  blinded  him ;  but,  at  all 
events,  he  knew  she  was  sitting  there ;  and  that  she  was  regarding 
him  with  no  fierce  indignation  at  all,  but  Avith  quite  a  friendly  look. 

"  Gertrude  !"  said  he,  in  wonder ;  but  he  did  not  approach  her. 
He  stood  before  her,  as  one  who  was  submissive. 

"  So  we  have  got  to  land  at  last,"  said  she :  and  more  and 
more  he  wondered  to  hear  the  friendliness  of  her  voice.  Could 
it  be  true,  then  ?  Or  was  it  only  one  of  those  visions  that  had  of 
late  been  torturing  his  brain  ? 

"  Oh  yes,  Gcrty  !"  said  he.     "We  have  got  to  an  anchorage." 

"I  thought  I  would  sit  up  for  it,"  said  she.  "Christina  said 
we  should  get  to  land  some  time  to-night ;  and  I  thought  I  would 
like  to  see  you.  Because,  you  know,  Keith,  you  have  used  me 
very  badly.     And  won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

He  accepted  that  invitation.  Could  it  be  true?  could  it  he 
true  ?  This  was  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  heard  her  only  in  a  be- 
wildered way. 

"And  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  mean  to  do  witli  mc," 
said  she,  frankly  and  graciously  :  "  I  am  at  your  mercy,  Keith," 

"  Oh,  not  that— not  that,"  said  he ;  and  he  added,  sadly  enough, 


390  MACLEOD    OF    DARE, 

"  it  is  I  -wlio  have  been  at  your  mercy  since  ever  I  saw  you,  Gcr- 
ty ;  and  it  is  for  you  to  say  what  is  to  become  of  you  and  of  me. 
And  have  you  got  over  your  anger  now  ?  And  will  you  think  of 
all  that  made  me  do  this,  and  try  to  forgive  it  for  the  sake  of 
my  love  for  you,  Gerty  ?     Is  there  any  chance  of  that  now  ?" 

She  rather  avoided  the  earnest  gaze  that  was  bent  on  her.  She 
did  not  notice  how  nervously  his  hand  gripped  the  edge  of  the 
table  near  him. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  good  deal  to  forgive,  Keith ;  you  will  acknowl- 
edge that  yourself  :  and  though  you  used  to  think  that  I  was 
ready  to  sacrifice  everything  for  fame,  I  did  not  expect  you  would 
make  me  a  nine-days'  wonder  in  this  way.  I  suppose  the  whole 
thing  is  in  the  papers  now." 

"  Oh  no,  Gerty  ;  I  sent  a  message  to  your  father." 

"  Well,  that  was  kind  of  you — and  audacious.  Were  you  not 
afraid  of  his  overtaking  you  ?  The  Umjnre  is  not  the  swiftest  of 
sailers,  you  used  to  say ;  and  you  know  there  are  telegraphs  and 
railways  to  all  the  ports." 

"  He  did  not  know  you  were  in  the  Umpire,  Gerty.  But  of 
course,  if  he  were  very  anxious  about  you,  he  would  write  or 
come  to  Dare.     I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  were  there  now." 

A  quick  look  of  surprise  and  gladness  sprang  to  her  face. 

"  Papa — at  Castle  Dare  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  And  Christina  says 
it  is  not  far  from  here." 

"Not  many  miles  away." 

"  Then,  of  course,  they  will  know  we  are  here  in  the  morning !" 
she  cried,  in  the  indiscretion  of  sudden  joy.  "  And  they  will 
come  out  for  me." 

"  Oh  no,  Gerty,  they  will  not  come  out  for  you.  No  human 
being  but  those  on  board  knows  that  we  are  here.  Do  you  think 
they  could  see  you  from  Dare  ?  And  there  is  no  one  living  now 
on  the  island.     We  are  alone  in  the  sea." 

The  light  died  away  from  her  face  ;  but  she  said,  cheerfully 
enough, 

"  Well,  I  am  at  your  mercy,  then,  Keith.  Let  us  take  it  that 
way.  Now  you  must  tell  me  what  part  in  the  comedy  you  mean 
me  to  play ;  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  make  it  out." 

*' Oh,  Gerty,  Gerty,  do  not  speak  like  that!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  are  breaking  my  heart!  Is  there  none  of  the  old  love 
left  ?     Is  it  all  a  matter  for  jesting  ?" 


THE  VOYAGE  OVER.  391 

She  saw  she  had  been  incautious. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  gently,  *'  I  was  wrong ;  I  know  it  is  more 
serious  than  that ;  and  I  am  not  indisposed  to  forgive  you,  if  you 
treat  me  fairly.  I  know  you  have  great  earnestness  of  nature ; 
and  —  and  you  were  very  fond  of  me ;  and  although  you  have 
risked  a  great  deal  in  what  you  have  done,  still,  men  who  are 
very  deeply  in  love  don't  think  much  about  consequences.  And 
if  I  were  to  forgive  you,  and  make  friends  again,  what  then?" 

"And  if  we  were  as  we  used  to  be,"  said  he,  with  a  grave  wist- 
fulness  in  his  face,  "do  you  not  think  I  would  gladly  take  you 
ashore,  Gerty  ?" 

"And  to  Castle  Dare  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  to  Castle  Dare !  Would  not  my  mother  and  Janet 
be  glad  to  welcome  you  !" 

"And  papa  may  be  there?" 

"If  he  is  not  there,  can  we  not  telegraph  for  him?  Why, 
Gerty,  surely  you  would  not  be  married  anywhere  but  in  the 
Highlands?" 

At  the  mention  of  marriage  she  blanched  somewhat ;  but  she 
had  nerved  herself  to  play  this  part. 

"  Then,  Keith,"  said  she,  gallantly,  "  I  will  make  you  a  promise. 
Take  me  to  Castle  Dare  to-morrow,  and  the  moment  I  am  within 
its  doors  I  will  shake  hands  with  you  and  forgive  you,  and  we 
will  be  friends  again  as  in  the  old  days." 

"  We  were  more  than  friends,  Gerty,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Let  us  be  friends  first,  and  then  who  knows  what  may  not 
follow  ?"  said  she,  brightly.  "  You  cannot  expect  me  to  be  over- 
profuse  in  affection  just  after  being  shut  up  like  this  ?" 

"  Gerty,"  said  lie,  and  he  looked  at  her  with  those  strangely 
tired  eyes,  and  there  was  a  great  gentleness  in  his  voice,  "  do  you 
know  where  you  are  ?  You  are  close  to  the  island  that  I  told 
you  of — where  I  wish  to  have  my  grave  on  the  cliff.  But  in- 
stead of  a  grave,  would  it  not  be  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  marriage 
here  ?  No,  do  not  be  alarmed,  Gerty !  it  is  only  with  your  own 
good-will ;  and  surely  your  heart  will  consent  at  last !  Would 
not  that  be  a  strange  wedding,  too ;  with  the  minister  from 
Salon ;  and  your  father  on  board ;  and  the  people  from  Dare  ? 
Oh,  you  would  see  such  a  number  of  boats  come  out  that  day, 
and  we  would  go  proudly  back ;  and  do  you  not  think  there 
would  be  a  great  rejoicing  that  day  ?     Then  all  our  troubles  would 


392  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

be  at  an  end,  Gerty !  There  would  be  no  more  fear ;  and  the 
tlicatres  would  never  see  you  again ;  and  the  long,  happy  life  we 
should  lead,  we  two  together !  And  do  you  know  the  first  thing 
I  would  get  you,  Gerty  ? — it  would  be  a  new  yacht !  I  would  go 
to  the  Clyde  and  have  it  built  all  for  you.  I  would  not  have 
you  go  out  again  in  this  yacht,  for  you  would  then  remember  the 
days  in  which  I  was  cruel  to  you ;  but  in  a  nev/  yacht  you  would 
not  remember  that  any  more ;  and  do  you  not  think  we  would 
Lave  many  a  pleasant,  long  summer  day  on  the  deck  of  her,  and 
only  ourselves,  Gerty  ?  And  you  would  sing  the  songs  I  first 
lieard  you  sing,  and  I  think  the  sailors  would  imagine  they  heard 
the  singing  of  the  mermaid  of  Colonsay  ;  for  there  is  no  one  can 
sing  as  you  can  sing,  Gerty.  I  think  it  was  that  first  took  away 
my  heart  from  me." 

"But  we  can  talk  about  all  these  thinfjs  when  I  am  on  shore 
again,"  said  she,  coldly.  "You  cannot  expect  me  to  be  very 
favorably  disposed  so  long  as  I  am  shut  up  here." 

"  But  then,"  he  said,  "  if  you  were  on  shore  you  might  go 
away  again  from  me,  Gerty !  The  people  would  get  at  your 
ear  again;  they  would  whisper  things  to  you;  you  would  think 
about  the  theatres  again.  I  have  saved  you,  sweetheart ;  can  I 
let  you  go  back  ?" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  an  eager  affection  and  yearning ; 
but  they  sank  into  her  mind  with  a  dull  and  cold  conviction  that 
there  was  no  escape  for  her  through  any  way  of  artifice. 

"Am  I  to  understand,  then," said  she,  "that  you  mean  to  keep 
me  a  prisoner  here  until  I  marry  you  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  speak  like  that,  Gerty  ?" 

"  I  demand  an  answer  to  my  question." 

"  I  have  risked  everything  to  save  you  ;  can  I  let  you  go 
back?" 

A  sudden  flash  of  desperate  anger — even  of  hatred — was  in 
her  eyes :  her  fine  piece  of  acting  had  been  of  no  avail. 

"  Well,  let  the  farce  end  !"  said  she,  with  frowning  eyebrows. 
"Before  I  came  on  board  this  yacht  I  had  some  pity  for  you.  I 
thought  you  were  at  least  a  man,  and  had  a  man's  generosity. 
Now  I  find  you  a  coward,  and  a  tyrant — " 

"Gerty!" 

"Oh,  do  not  think  you  have  frightened  me  with  your  stories 
of  the  revenge  of  vour  miserable  chiefs  and  their  savage  slaves  L 


■rriE    VOYAGE    OVER.  393 

■Not  a  bit  of  it !  Do  with  me  what  you  like :  I  would  not  marry 
you  if  you  gave  nie  a  hundred  yachts !" 

"  Gerty  !"^ 

The  angiiisli  of  his  face  was  growing  wild  Avith  despair. 

"  I  say,  let  the  farce  end  !  I  had  pity  for  you — yes,  I  had  ! 
Now — I  hate  you  !" 

He  sprang  up  with  a  quick  cry,  as  of  one  shot  througli  the 
heart.  He  regarded  her,  in  a  bewildered  manner,  for  one  brief 
second ;  and  then  he  gently  said,  "  Good-night,  Gerty !  God  for- 
give you  1"  and  he  staggered  backward,  and  got  out  of  the  saloon, 
leaving  her  alone. 

~  See  !  the  night  is  still  fine.  All  around  this  solitary  bay  there 
is  a  wall  of  rock,  jet  black,  against  the  clear,  dark  sky,  with  its 
myriad  twinkling  stars.  The  new  moon  has  arisen ;  but  it  sheds 
but  little  radiance  yet  down  there  in  the  south.  There  is  a  sharp- 
er gleam  from  one  lambent  planet — a  thin  line  of  golden-yellow 
light  that  comes  all  the  way  across  from  the  black  rocks  until  it 
breaks  in  flashes  among  the  ripples  close  to  the  side  of  the  yacht. 
Silence  once  more  reigns  around ;  only  from  time  to  time  one 
hears  the  croak  of  a  heron  from  the  dusky  shore. 

What  can  keep  this  man  up  so  late  on  deck  ?  There  is  noth- 
ing to  look  at  but  the  great  bows  of  the  yacht  black  against  the 
pale  gray  sea,  and  the  tall  spars  and  the  rigging  going  away  up 
into  the  starlit  sky,  and  the  suffused  glow  from  the  skylight 
touching  a  yellow-gray  on  the  main-boom.  There  is  no  need  for 
the  anchor-watch  that  Hamish  was  insisting  on :  the  equinoctials 
arc  not  likely  to  begin  on  such  a  night  as  this. 

He  is  looking  across  the  lapping  gray  water  to  the  jet-black 
line  of  cliff.  And  there  are  certain  words  haunting  him.  He 
cannot  forget  them  ;  he  cannot  put  them  away. 

AVherefore  is  light  given  to  him  that  is  in  misery,  and  life 

UNTO  the  bitter  IN  SOUL  ?  *  *  *  WlIICII  LONG  FOR  DEATH,  BUT 
IT  COMETH  NOT  ;  AND  DIG  FOR  IT  MORE  THAN  FOR  HIDDEN  TREAS- 
URES. *  *  *  Which  rejoice  exceedingly,  and  are  glad  when 

THEY  can  find  THE  GRAVE. 

Then,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  he  heard  a  breathing.  He 
went  forward,  and  found  that  Hamish  had  secreted  himself  be- 

17* 


394  MACLEOD    OF    DARK. 

hind  tlie  ^vindlass.  He  uttered  some  exclamation  in  the  Gaelic; 
and  the  old  man  rose  and  stood  guiltily  before  him. 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  to  go  below  before  ?  and  will  I  have  to 
throw  you  down  into  the  forecastle?" 

The  old  man  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said, 
also  in  his  native  tongue, 

"  You  should  not  speak  like  that  to  me,  Sir  Keith :  I  liave 
known  you  many  a  year." 

Maclcod  caught  Ilamish's  hand. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Hamish.  You  do  not  know.  It  is  a 
sore  heart  I  have  this  night." 

"Oh,  God  help  us!  Do  I  not  know  that!"  he  exclaimed, in  a 
broken  voice ;  and  Macleod,  as  he  turned  away,  could  hear  the 
old  man  crying  bitterly  in  the  dark.  What  else  could  Hamish 
do  now  for  him  who  had  been  to  liim  as  the  son  of  his  old  age? 

"  Go  below  now,  Hamish,"  said  Macleod  in  a  gentle  voice  ;  and 
the  old  man  slowly  and  reluctantly  obeyed. 

But  the  night  had  not  drawn  to  day  when  Macleod  again  went 
forward,  and  said,  in  a  strange,  excited  whisper, 

"Hamish,  Hamish,  are  you  awake  now?" 

Instantly  the  old  man  appeared :  he  had  not  turned  into  his 
berth  at  all. 

"  Hamish,  Hamish,  do  you  liear  the  sound  ?"  Macleod  said,  in 
the  same  wild  way ;  "  do  you  not  hear  the  sound?" 

"What  sound.  Sir  Keith?"  said  he;  for  indeed  there  was  noth- 
ing but  the  lapping  of  the  water  along  the  side  of  the  yacht  and 
a  murmur  of  ripples  along  the  shore. 

"  Do  you  not  hear  it,  Hamish  ?  It  is  a  sound  as  of  a  brass- 
band  ! — a  brass-band  playing  music — as  if  it  was  in  a  theatre. 
Can  you  not  hear  it,  Hamish  ?" 

"  Oh,  God  help  us !  God  help  us !"  Hamish  cried. 

"  You  do  not  hear  it,  Hamish  ?"  he  said.  "Ah,  it  is  some  mis- 
take. I  beg  your  pardon  for  calling  you,  Hamish  :  now  you  will 
go  below  again." 

"Oh  no.  Sir  Keith,"  said  Hamish.  "Will  I  not  stay  on  deck 
now  till  the  morning  ?  It  is  a  fine  sleep  I  have  had ;  oh  yes,  I 
had  a  fine  sleep.  And  how  is  one  to  know  when  the  equinoctials 
may  not  come  on  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  go  below,  Hamish." 

And  now  this  sound  that  is  ringing  in  his  ears  is  no  longer  of 


THE    VOYAGE    OVER.  395 

the  brass-band  that  he  had  Iieard  in  the  theatre.  It  is  quite  dif- 
ferent. It  lias  all  the  ghastly  nurth  of  tliat  song  that  Norman 
Ogilvie  used  to  sing  in  the  old,  half-forgotten  days.  What  is  it 
tliat  he  hears  ? 

"  King  Death  was  a  rare  old  follow, 
He  sat  where  no  sun  could  shine ; 
And  he  lifted  his  hand  so  yellow. 
And  poured  out  his  coal-black  wine ! 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  the  coal-black  wine !" 

It  is  a  strange  mirth.  It  might  ahnost  mate  a  man  laugh.  For 
do  we  not  laugh  gently  wlien  we  bury  a  young  child,  and  put  the 
flowers  over  it,  and  know  that  it  is  at  peace  ?  The  child  has  no 
more  pain  at  the  heart.  Oh,  Norman  Ogilvie,  are  you  still  sing- 
ing the  wild  song  ?  and  are  you  laughing  now  ? — or  is  it  the  old 
man  Hamish  that  is  crying  in  the  dark  ? 

*  ^v  *  *  *  •*  * 

"  There  came  to  him  many  a  maiden, 
Whose  eyes  had  forgot  to  shine ; 
And  widows  with  grief  o'erladen, 
For  a  draught  of  his  sleepy  wine. 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  the  coal-black  wine !" 

It  is  such  a  fine  thing  to  sleep — when  one  has  been  fretting  all 
the  night,  and  spasms  of  fire  go  through  the  brain !  Ogilvie, 
Ogilvie,  do  you  remember  the  laughing  Duchess  ?  do  you  think 
she  would  laugh  over  one's  grave ;  or  put  her  foot  on  it,  and 
stand  relentless,  with  anger  in  her  eyes?  That  is  a  sad  thing; 
but  after  it  is  over  there  is  sleep. 

******* 

"  All  came  to  the  rare  old  fellow, 

Who  laughed  till  his  eyes  dropped  brine, 
As  he  gave  them  his  hand  so  yellow. 

And  pledged  them,  in  Death's  black  wine ! 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah !  for  the  coal-black  wine !" 

Hamish ! — Ilamish  ! — will  you  not  keep  her  away  from  me  ?  I 
have  told  Donald  what  pibroch  he  will  play ;  I  want  to  be  at 
peace  now.  But  the  brass-band — the  brass-band — I  can  hear  the 
blare  of  the  trumpets;  and  TJlva  will  know  that  we  are  here,  and 
the  Gometra  men,  and  the  sea-birds  too,  that  I  used  to  love.  But 
she  has  killed  all  that  now,  and  she  stands  on  my  grave.  She 
will  laugh,  for  she  was  light-hearted,  like  a  young  child.     But 


396  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

you,  Ilarnisb,  you  will  find  the  quiet  grave  for  me ;  and  Donald 
will  play  the  pibroch  for  me  that  I  told  him  of ;  and  you  will 
say  no  word  to  her  of  all  that  is  over  and  gone. 

******* 

See — he  sleeps.  This  haggard-faced  man  is  stretched  on  the 
deck  ;  and  the  pale  dawn,  arising  in  the  east,  looks  at  him ;  and 
does  not  revive  him,  but  makes  him  whiter  still.  You  might  al- 
most think  he  was  dead.  But  Ilamish  knows  better  than  that ; 
for  the  old  man  comes  stealthily  forward ;  and  he  has  a  great 
tartan  plaid  in  his  hands  ;  and  very  gently  indeed  he  puts  it  over 
his  young  master.  And  there  are  tears  running  down  Hamish's 
face ;  and  he  says  "  The  brave  lad !  the  brave  lad  !" 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

THE    END. 

"Duncan,"  said  Hamish,  in  a  low  whisper — for  Macleod  had 
gone  below,  and  they  thought  he  might  be  asleep  in  the  small, 
hushed  state-room,  "  this  is  a  strange-looking  day,  is  it  not  ?  And 
I  am  afraid  of  it  in  this  open  bay,  with  an  anchorage  no  better 
than  a  sheet  of  paper  for  an  anchorage.  Do  you  see  now  how 
strange-looking  it  is  ?" 

Duncan  Cameron  also  spoke  in  liis  native  tongue;  and  he 
said, 

"  That  is  true,  Hamish.  And  it  was  a  day  like  this  there  was 
when  the  Solan  was  sunk  «t  her  moorings  in  Loch  Hourn.  Do 
you  remember,  Hamish  ?  And  it  would  be  better  for  us  now  if 
we  were  in  Loch  Tua,  or  Loch-na-Keal,  or  in  the  dock  that  was 
built  for  the  steamer  at  Tiree.  I  do  not  like  the  look  of  this 
day." 

Yet  to  an  ordinary  obser^-er  it  would  have  seemed  that  the 
chief  characteristic  of  this  pale,  still  day  was  extreme  and  settled 
calm.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind  to  ruffle  the  surface  of 
the  sea ;  but  there  was  a  slight,  glassy  swell,  and  that  only  served 
to  show  curious  opalescent  tints  under  the  sufEuscd  light  of  the 
sun.  There  were  no  clouds;  there  was  only  a  thin  veil  of  faint 
and  sultry  mist  all  across  the  sky :  the  sun  was  invisible,  but 


THE    END.  397 

there  was  a  glare  of  yellow  at  one  point  of  the  heavens.  A  dead 
calm  ;  but  heavy,  oppressed,  sultry.  There  was  souiething  in  the 
atmosphere  that  seemed  to  weigh  on  the  chest. 

"There  was  a  dream  I  had  this  morning,"  continued  Hainish, 
in  the  same  low  tones.  "  It  was  about  my  little  granddaugh- 
ter Christina.  You  know  my  little  Christina,  Duncan.  And  she 
said  to  me, '  What  have  you  done  with  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?  Why 
have  you  not  brought  him  back?  He  was  under  your  care, 
grandfather.'     I  did  not  like  that  dream." 

"Oh,  you  are  becoming  as  bad  as  Sir  Keith  Macleod  himself  ?" 
said  the  other.  "  He  does  not  sleep.  He  talks  to  himself.  You 
will  become  like  that  if  you  pay  attention  to  foolish  dreams, 
Hamish." 

Hamish's  quick  temper  leaped  up. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Duncan  Cameron,  by  saying  '  as  bad  as 
Sir  Keith  Macleod  V  You — you  come  from  Ross :  perhaps  they 
have  not  good  masters  there.  I  tell  you  there  is  not  any  man 
in  Ross,  or  in  Sutherland  either,  is  as  good  a  master,  and  as 
brave  a  lad,  as  Sir  Keith  Macleod — not  any  one,  Duncan  Cam- 
eron !" 

"  I  did  not  mean  anything  like  that,  Hamish,"  said  the  other, 
humblv.  "But  there  was  a  breeze  this  mornine:.  AVe  could 
have  got  over  to  Loch  Tua.  Why  did  we  stay  here,  v/here  there 
is  no  shelter  and  no  anchorage?  Do  you  know  what  is  likely  to 
come  after  a  day  like  this?" 

"It  is  your  business  to  be  a  sailor  on  board  this  yacht;  it  is 
not  your  business  to  say  where  she  will  go,"  said  Hamish. 

But  all  the  same  the  old  man  was  becomino-  more  and  more 
alarmed  at  the  ugly  aspect  of  this  dead  calm.  The  very  birds, 
instead  of  stalking  among  the  still  pools,  or  lying  buoyant  on  the 
smooth  waters,  were  excitedly  calling,  and  whirring  from  one 
point  to  another. 

"  If  the  equinoctials  were  to  begin  now,"  said  Duncan  Cameron, 
"  this  is  a  fine  place  to  meet  the  equinoctials !  An  open  bay, 
without  shelter ;  and  a  ground  that  is  no  ground  for  an  anchor- 
age. It  is  not  two  anchors  or  twenty  anchors  would  liold  in 
such  ground." 

Macleod  appeared  ;  the  men  were  suddenly  silent.  W^ithout  a 
word  to  either  of  them — and  that  was  not  his  wont — he  passed 
to  the  stern  of  the  yacht.     Hamish  knew  from  his  manner  that 


398  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

he  would  not  be  spoken  to.  He  did  not  follow  him,  even  with 
all  this  vague  dread  on  liis  mind. 

The  day  wore  on  to  the  afternoon.  Macleod,  who  had  been 
pacing  up  and  down  the  deck,  suddenly  called  Hamish.  Hamish 
came  aft  at  once. 

"  Hamish,"  said  he,  with  a  strange  sort  of  laugh,  "  do  you  re- 
member this  morning,  before  the  light  came?  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  I  asked  you  about  a  brass-band  that  I  heard  playing  ?" 

Hamish  looked  at  him,  and  said,  with  an  earnest  anxiety, 

"  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  you  will  pay  no  heed  to  that !  It  is  very  com- 
mon ;  I  have  heard  them  say  it  is  very  common.  Why,  to  hear 
a  brass-band,  to  be  sure !  There  is  nothing  more  common  than 
that.  And  you  will  not  think  you  are  unwell  merely  because 
you  think  you  can  hear  a  brass-band  playing !" 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  Hamish,"  said  he,  in  the  same  jesting 
way,  "  whether  my  eyes  have  followed  the  example  of  my  ears, 
and  are  playing  tricks.  Do  you  think  they  are  bloodshot,  with 
my  lying  on  deck  in  the  cold  ?  Hamish,  what  do  you  see  all 
around?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  sky,  and  the  shore,  and  the  sea. 
It  was  a  marvellous  thing.  The  world  was  all  enshrouded  in  a 
salmon-colored  mist:  there  was  no  line  of  horizon  visible  be- 
tween the  sea  and  the  sky. 

"  It  is  red,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Hamish. 

"  Ah !  Am  I  in  my  senses  this  time  ?  And  what  do  you 
think  of  a  red  day,  Hamish  ?     That  is  not  a  usual  thing." 

"  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  it  will  be  a  wild  night  this  night !  And  we 
cannot  stay  here,  with  this  bad  anchorage  !" 

"And  where  would  you  go,  Hamish — in  a  dead  calm?"  Mac- 
leod asked,  still  with  a  smile  on  the  wan  face. 

"Where  would  I  go?"  said  the  old  man,  excitedly.  "I — I 
will  take  care  of  the  yacht.  But  you,  Sir  Keith  ;  oh  !  you — you 
will  go  ashore  now.  Do  you  know,  sir,  the  shelling  that  the 
shepherd  had  ?  It  is  a  poor  place ;  oh  yes ;  but  Duncan  Cameron 
and  I  will  take  some  things  ashore.  And  do  you  not  think  we 
can  look  after  the  yacht?  She  has  met  the  equinoctifls  before, 
if  it  is  the  equinoctials  that  are  beginning.  She  has  met  them 
before ;  and  cannot  she  meet  them  now  ?  But  you,  Sir  Keith, 
you  will  go  ashore  !" 

Macleod  burst  out  laughing,  in  an  odd  sort  of  fashion. 


THE    END.  399 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  good  at  running  away  when  there  is  any 
kind  of  danger,  Ilamish  ?  Have  you  got  into  tlie  English  way  ? 
Would  you  call  me  a  coward  too  ?  Nonsense,  nonsense,  nonsense, 
Hamish  !  I — why,  I  am  going  to  drink  a  glass  of  the  coal-black 
wine,  and  have  done  with  it.  I  will  drink  it  to  the  health  of  my 
sweetheart,  Ilaniish !" 

*'  Sir  Keith,"  said  the  old  man,  beginning  to  tremble,  though 
he  but  half  understood  the  meaning  of  the  scornful  mirth,  "  I 
have  had  charge  of  you  since  you  were  a  young  lad." 

"Very  well!" 

"And  Lady  Macleod  will  ask  of  me,  'Such  and  such  a  thing 
happened:  what  did  you  do  for  my  son?'  Then  I  will  say, 
'  Your  ladyship,  we  were  afraid  of  the  equinoctials ;  and  we  got 
Sir  Keith  to  go  ashore ;  and  the  next  day  we  went  ashore  for 
him  ;  and  now  we  have  brought  him  back  to  Castle  Dare  !'  " 

"  Hamish,  Hamish,  you  are  laughing  at  me !  Or  you  want  to 
call  me  a  coward?  Don't  you  know  I  should  be  afraid  of  the 
ghost  of  the  shepherd  who  killed  himself  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
the  English  people  call  me  a  coward  ?" 

"  May  their  souls  dwell  in  tlie  downmost  hall  of  perdition  !" 
said  Hamish,  with  his  cheeks  becoming  a  gray-white;  "and  every 
woman  that  ever  came  of  the  accursed  race!" 

He  looked  at  the  old  man  for  a  second,  and  he  gripped  liis  hand. 

"Do  not  say  that,  Hamish — that  is  folly.  But  you  have  been 
my  friend.  My  mother  wuU  not  forget  you — it  is  not  the  way 
of  a  Macleod  to  forget — whatever  happens  to  me." 

"  Sir  Keith  !"  Hamish  cried,  "  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  I 
But  you  will  go  ashore  before  the  night  ?" 

"  Go  ashore,"  Macleod  answered,  with  a  return  to  this  wild, 
bantering  tone,  "  when  I  am  going  to  see  my  sweetheart  ?  Oh 
no  I  Tell  Christina,  now !  Tell  Christina  to  ask  the  young  Eng- 
lish lady  to  come  into  the  saloon,  for  I  have  something  to  say  to 
her.     Be  quick,  Hamish !" 

Hamish  went  away ;  and  before  long  he  returned  with  the  an- 
swer that  the  young  English  lady  was  in  the  saloon.  And  now 
he  was  no  longer  haggard  and  piteous,  but  joyful ;  and  there  was 
a  strange  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Sweetheart,"  said  he,  "  arc  you  waiting  for  me  at  last  ?  I 
liave  brought  you  a  long  way.  Shall  we  drink  a  glass  now  at  the 
end  of  the  voyage  ?" 


400  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  insult  me  ?"  said  she ;  hut  there  was  no  an^ 
ger  in  her  voice :  there  was  more  of  fear  in  her  eyes  as  she  re- 
garded him. 

"  You  have  no  other  message  for  me  than  the  one  you  gave 
me  last  night,  Gerty  ?"  said  he,  almost  cheerfully.  "  It  is  all 
over,  then  ?  You  Avould  go  away  from  me  forever  ?  But  we 
will  drink  a  glass  before  we  go !" 

lie  sprang  forward,  and  caught  both  her  hands  in  his  with  the 
grip  of  a  vise. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done,  Gerty  ?"  said  he,  in  a  low 
voice.  "Oh,  you  have  soft,  smooth,  English  ways  ;  and  you  are 
like  a  rose-leaf ;  and  you  are  like  a  queen,  whom  all  people  are 
glad  to  serve.  But  do  you  know  that  you  have  killed  a  man's 
life  ?  And  there  is  no  penalty  for  that  in  the  South,  perhaps ; 
but  you  are  no  longer  in  the  South.  And  if  you  have  this  very 
night  to  drink  a  glass  with  me,  you  will  not  refuse  it  ?  It  is  only 
a  glass  of  the  coal-black  wine  !" 

She  struofcrled  back  from  him,  for  there  was  a  look  in  his  face 
that  frisrhtened  her.     But  she  had  a  wonderful  self-command. 

"  Is  that  the  message  I  was  to  hear?"  said  she,  coldly. 

"Why,  sweetheart,  are  you  not  glad?  Is  not  that  the  only 
gladness  left  for  you  and  for  me,  that  we  should  drink  one  glass 
together,  and  clasp  hands,  and  say  good-bye  ?  What  else  is  there 
left?  What  else  could  come  to  you  and  to  me?  And  it  may 
not  be  this  night,  or  to-morrow  night;  but  one  night  I  think  it 
will  come;  and  then,  sweetheart,  we  will  have  one  more  glass  to- 
gether, before  the  end." 

He  went  on  deck.     He  called  Hamish. 

"  Hamish,"  said  he,  in  a  grave,  matter-of-fact  wa}-,  "  I  don't 
like  the  look  of  this  evening.  Did  you  say  the  shelling  was  still 
on  the  island?" 

"  Oh  yes.  Sir  Keith,"  said  Hamish,  with  great  joy ;  for  he 
thought  his  advice  was  going  to  be  taken,  after  all. 

"  Well,  now,  you  know  the  gales,  when  they  begin,  sometimes 
last  for  two,  or  three,  or  four  days ;  and  I  will  ask  you  to  see  that 
Christina  takes  a  good  store  of  things  to  the  shelling  before  the 
darkness  comes  on.  Take  plenty  of  things  now,  Hamish,  and 
put  them  in  the  shelling,  for  I  am  afraid  this  is  going  to  be  a 
wild  night." 

Now,  indeed,  all  the  red  light  had  gone  away ;  and  as  the  sun 


THE    END.  401 

went  down  there  was  notliing  but  a  spectral  whiteness  over  tlic 
sea  and  the  sky  ;  and  the  atmosphere  was  so  close  and  sultry  that 
it  seemed  to  suffocate  one.  Moreover,  there  was  a  dead  calm  ; 
if  they  had  wanted  to  get  away  from  this  exposed  place,  how 
could  they  ?  They  could  not  get  into  the  gig  and  pull  this  great 
yacht  over  to  Loch  Tua. 

It  was  Avith  a  light  heart  that  Ilamish  set  about  this  thing ; 
and  Christina  forthwith  filled  a  hamper  with  tinned  meats,  and 
bread,  and  whiskey,  and  what  not.  And  fuel  was  taken  ashore, 
too ;  and  candles,  and  a  store  of  matches.  If  the  gales  were  com- 
ing on,  as  appeared  likely  from  this  ominous-looking  evening, 
who  could  tell  how  many  days  and  nights  the  young  master — 
and  the  English  lady,  too,  if  he  desired  her  company — might  not 
liave  to  stay  ashore,  while  the  men  took  the  chance  of  the  sea 
with  this  yacht,  or  perhaps  seized  the  occasion  of  some  lull  to 
make  for  some  place  of  shelter  ?  There  was  Loch  Tua,  and  there 
was  the  bay  at  Biinessan,  and  there  was  the  little  channel  called 
Polterriv,  behind  the  rocks  opposite  lona.  Any  shelter  at  all  was 
better  than  this  exposed  place,  with  the  treacherous  anchorage. 

Ilamish  and  Duncan  Cameron  returned  to  the  yacht. 

"  ^Yill  you  go  ashore  now.  Sir  Keith  ?"  the  old  man  said. 

"Oh  no;  I  am  not  going  ashore  yet.  It  is  not  yet  time  to 
run  awav,  Hamish." 

He  spoke  in  a  friendly  and  pleasant  fashion,  though  Ilamish, 
in  his  increasing  alarm,  thought  it  no  proper  time  for  jesting. 
They  hauled  the  gig  up  to  the  davits,  hovtever,  and  again  the 
yacht  lay  in  dead  silence  in  this  little  bay. 

The  evening  grew  to  dusk;  the  only  change  visible  in  the 
spectral  world  of  pale  yellow-white  mist  was  the  appearance  in 
the  sky  of  a  number  of  small,  detached  bulbous-looking  clouds 
of  a  dusky  blue -gray.  They  had  not  drifted  hither,  for  there 
was  no  wind.  They  had  only  appeared.  They  were  absolutely 
motionless. 

But  the  heat  and  the  suffocation  in  this  atmosphere  became  al- 
most insupportable.  The  men,  with  bare  heads,  and  jerseys  un- 
buttoned at  the  neck,  were  continually  going  to  the  cask  of  fresh- 
water beside  the  windlass.  Nor  was  there  any  change  when  the 
night  came  on.  If  anything,  the  night  was  hotter  than  the  even- 
ing had  been.  They  awaited  in  silence  what  might  come  of  this 
ominous  calm. 


402  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

Hamish  came  aft. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Le,  *'  but  I  am  thinking 
we  will  have  an  anchor-watch  to-night." 

"  You  will  have  no  anchor- watch  to-niglit,"  Macleod  answered, 
slowly,  from  out  of  the  darkness.  "I  will  be  all  the  anchor- 
watch  you  will  need,  Hamish,  until  the  morning." 

"  You,  sir !"  Hamish  cried.  "  I  have  been  waiting  to  take  you 
ashore ;  and  surely  it  is  ashore  that  you  are  going !" 

Just  as  he  bad  spoken  there  Avas  a  sound  that  all  the  world 
seemed  to  stand  still  to  hear.  It  was  a  low,  murmuring  sound 
of  thunder ;  but  it  was  so  remote  as  almost  to  be  inaudible.  The 
next  moment  an  awful  thing  occurred.  The  two  men  standinof 
face  to  face  in  the  dark  suddenly  found  themselves  in  a  blaze  of 
blinding  steel-blue  light ;  and  at  the  very  same  instant  the  thun- 
der-roar crackled  and  shook  all  around  them  like  the  firinor  of  a 
thousand  cannon.  How  the  wild  echoes  went  booming  over  the 
sea !  Then  they  were  in  the  black  night  again.  There  was  a 
period  of  awed  silence. 

"  Hamish,"  Macleod  said,  quickly,  "  do  as  I  tell  you  now ! 
Lower  the  gig;  take  the  men  with  you,  and  Christina,  and  go 
ashore,  and  remain  in  the  sheilinw  till  the  morning." 

"I  will  not!"  Hamish  cried.  "Oh,  Sir  Keith,  would  you  have 
me  do  that  ?" 

Macleod  had  anticipated  his  refusal.  Instantly  he  went  for- 
ward and  called  up  Christina.  He  ordered  Duncan  Cameron 
and  John  Cameron  to  lower  away  the  gig.  He  got  them  all  in 
but  Hamish. 

"Hamish,"  said  he,  "you  are  a  smaller  man  than  L  Is  it  on 
such  a  night  that  you  would  have  me  quarrel  with  you?  Must 
I  throw  you  into  the  boat  ?" 

The  old  man  clasped  his  trembling  hands  together  as  if  in 
prayer ;  and  he  said,  with  an  agonized  and  broken  voice, 

"  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  you  are  my  master,  and  there  is  nothing  I  will 
not  do  for  you ;  but  only  this  one  night  you  will  let  me  remain 
with  the  yacht  ?  I  will  give  you  the  rest  of  my  life ;  but  only 
this  one  night — " 

"  Into  the  gig  with  you !"  Macleod  cried,  angrily.  "  Why, 
man,  don't  you  think  I  can  keep  anchor-watch  •"  But  then  he 
added,  very  gently,  "Hamish,  shake  hands  with  me  now.  You 
were  my  friend,  and  you  must  get  ashore  before  the  sea  rises." 


NEAEIXf;    THE    END. 


THE    END.  403 

"  I  will  stay  in  the  dingy,  then  ?"  the  old  man  entreated. 

"  You  will  go  ashore,  Hamish ;  and  this  very  instant,  too.  If 
the  gale  begins,  how  will  you  get  ashore?  Good-bye,  Hamish — 
good-night  P'' 

Another  white  sheet  of  flame  quivered  all  around  them,  just  as 
this  black  figure  was  descending  into  the  gig ;  and  then  the  fierce 
hell  of  sounds  broke  loose  once  more.  Sea  and  sky  together 
seemed  to  shudder  at  the  wild  uproar,  and  far  away  the  sounds 
went  thundering  through  the  hollow  night.  How  could  one 
hear  if  there  was  any  sobbing  in  that  departing  boat,  or  any  last 
cry  of  farewell  ?  It  was  Ulva  calling  now,  and  Fladda  answering 
from  over  the  black  water;  and  the  Dutchman  is  surely  awake 
at  last ! 

There  came  a  stirring  of  wind  from  the  east,  and  the  sea  began 
to  moan.  Surely  the  poor  fugitives  must  have  reached  the  shore 
now.  And  then  there  was  a  strange  noise  in  the  distance :  in 
the  awful  silence  between  the  peals  of  thunder  it  would  be  heard  ; 
it  came  nearer  and  nearer — a  low  murmuring  noise,  but  full  of  a 
secret  life  and  thrill — it  came  along  like  the  tread  of  a  thousand 
armies — and  then  the  gale  struck  its  first  blow.  The  yacht  reeled 
under  the  stroke,  but  her  bows  staggered  up  again  like  a  dog  that 
has  been  felled,  and  after  one  or  two  convulsive  plunges  she  clung 
hard  at  the  strained  cables.  And  now  the  gale  was  growing  in 
fury,  and  the  sea  rising.  Blinding  showers  of  rain  swept  over, 
hissino-  and  roarino: :  the  white  tongues  of  flame  were  shooting 
this  way  and  that  across  the  startled  heavens ;  and  there  was  a 
more  awful  thunder  than  even  the  falling  of  the  Atlantic  surge 
booming  into  the  great  sea-caves.  In  the  abysmal  darkness  the 
spectral  arms  of  the  ocean  rose  white  in  their  angry  clamor;  and 
then  another  blue  gleam  would  lay  bare  the  great  heaving  and 
wreathing  bosom  of  the  deep.  What  devil's  dance  is  this  ? 
Surely  it  cannot  be  Ulva — Ulva  the  green-shored — Ulva  that  the 
sailors,  in  their  love  of  her,  call  softly  Ool-a-va  —  that  is  laugh- 
ing aloud  with  wild  laughter  on  this  awful  night?  And  Colon- 
say,  and  Lunga,  and  Fladda — they  were  beautiful  and  quiet  in  the 
still  summer-time;  but  now  they  have  gone  mad,  and  they  are 
flinging  back  the  plunging  sea  in  white  masses  of  foam,  and 
they  arc  shrieking  in  their  fierce  joy  of  the  strife.  And  Staffa — 
Staffa  is  far  away  and  alone ;  she  is  trembling  to  her  core :  how 
long  will  the  shuddering  caves  withstand  the  mighty  hammer  of 


404  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

tlie  Atlantic  surge?  And  then  again  the  sudden  wild  gleam 
startles  the  night,  and  one  sees,  with  an  appalling  vividness,  the 
driven  white  waves  and  the  black  islands  ;  and  then  again  a  thou- 
sand echoes  go  booming  along  the  iron-bound  coast.  What  can 
be  heard  in  the  roar  of  the  hurricane,  and  the  hissing  of  rain,  and 
the  thundering  whirl  of  the  waves  on  the  rocks  ?  Surely  not  the 
glad  last  cry :  Sweetheart  !  your  health  !  your  health   in 

THE  coal-black  WINE  ! 

******* 

The  poor  fugitives  crouching  in  among  the  rocks :  is  it  the 
blinding  rain' or  the  driven  white  surf  tliat  is  in  their  eyes?  But 
they  have  sailors'  eyes ;  they  can  see  through  the  awful  storm ; 
and  their  gaze  is  fixed  on  one  small  green  point  far  out  there  in 
the  blackness — the  starboard  light  of  the  doomed  ship.  It  wavers 
like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  but  it  does  not  recede ;  the  old  Umjnre 
still  clings  bravely  to  her  chain-cables. 

And  amidst  all  the  din  of  the  storm  they  hear  the  voice  of 
Ilamish  lifted  aloud  in  lamentation  : 

"  Oh,  the  brave  lad  !  the  brave  lad !  And  who  is  to  save  mv 
young  master  now  ?  and  who  will  carry  this  tale  back  to  Castle 
Dare  ?  They  will  say  to  me :  '  Ilamish,  you  had  charge  of  the 
young  lad :  you  put  the  first  gun  in  his  hand :  you  had  charge 
of  him :  lie  had  the  love  of  a  son  for  you :  what  is  it  you  have 
done  with  him  this  night  ?'  He  is  my  Absalom ;  he  is  my  brave 
young  lad :  oh,  do  you  think  that  I  will  let  him  drown  and  do 
nothing  to  tr^  to  save  him  ?  Do  you  think  that  ?  Duncan  Cam- 
eron, are  you  a  man  ?  Will  you  get  into  the  gig  with  me  and 
pull  out  to  the  UttijMve .?" 

"By  God,"  said  Duncan  Cameron,  solemnly,  "I  will  do  that! 
I  have  no  wife ;  I  do  not  care.  I  will  go  into  the  gig  with  you, 
Ilamish ;  but  we  will  never  reach  the  yacht — this  night  or  any 
night  that  is  to  come." 

Then  the  old  woman  Christina  shrieked  aloud,  and  caught  her 
husband  bv  the  arm. 

"Hamish  !  Hamish  !  Are  you  going  to  drown  yourself  before 
my  eyes?" 

lie  shook  her  hand  away  from  him. 

"  My  young  master  ordered  me  ashore :  I  have  come  ashore. 
But  I  myself,  I  order  myself  back  again.     Duncan  Cameron,  they 


THE    END.  405 

will  never  say  that  wc  stood  by  and  saw  Macleod  of  Dare  go  down 
to  Lis  grave !" 

They  emerged  from  the  shelter  of  this  great  rock ;  the  hurri- 
cane was  so  fierce  that  they  had  to  cling  to  one  bowlder  after 
another  to  save  themselves  from  being  whirled  into  the  sea.  But 
were  these  two  men  by  themselves  ?  Not  likely  !  It  was  a  party 
of  five  men  that  now  clambered  along  the  slippery  rocks  to  the 
shingle  up  which  they  had  hauled  the  gig,  and  one  wild  lightning- 
flash  saw  them  with  their  hands  on  the  gunwale,  ready  to  drag 
her  down  to  tlie  water.  There  was  a  surf  raging  there  that  would 
have  swamped  twenty  gigs :  these  five  men  were  going  of  their 
own  free-will  and  choice  to  certain  death  —  so  much  had  they 
loved  the  young  master. 

But  a  piercing  cry  from  Christina  arrested  them.  They  looked 
out  to  sea.  "What  was  this  sudden  and  awful  thing?  Instead  of 
the  starboard  green  light,  behold !  the  port  red  light — and  that 
moving?  Oh,  see!  how  it  recedes,  wavering,  flickering  through 
the  whirling  vapor  of  the  storm !  And  there  again  is  the  green 
light !  Is  it  a  Avitch's  dance,  or  are  they  strange  death-fires  hov- 
ering over  the  dark  ocean-grave?  But  Hamish  knows  too  well 
what  it  means;  and  with  a  wild  cry  of  horror  and  despair,  the 
old  man  sinks  on  his  knees  and  clasps  his  hands,  and  stretches 
them  out  to  tlie  terrible  sea. 

"  Oh,  Macleod,  Macleod  !  are  you  going  away  from  ine  forever  ? 
and  we  will  go  up  the  hills  together  and  on  the  lochs  together 
no  more — no  more — no  inore !  Oh,  the  brave  lad  that  he  was ! 
— and  the  good  master !  And  who  was  not  proud  of  him — my 
handsome  lad — and  he  the  last  of  the  Macleods  of  Dare  ?" 

Arise,  Hamish,  and  have  the  gig  hauled  up  into  shelter;  for 
will  you  not  want  it  when  the  gale  abates,  and  the  seas  are 
smooth,  and  you  have  to  go  away  to  Dare,  you  and  your  com- 
rades, witli  silent  tongues  and  sombre  eyes?  "Why  this  wild 
lamentation  in  the  darkness  of  the  night?  The  stricken  heart 
that  you  loved  so  well  has  found  peace  at  last ;  the  coal-black 
wine  has  been  drank  ;  there  is  an  end !  And  you,  you  poor,  cow- 
ering fugitives,  who  only  see  each  other's  terrified  faces  when  the 
wan  gleam  of  tho  lightning  blazes  through  the  sky,  perhaps  it  is 
well  that  5'ou  should  weep  and  wail  for  the  young  master;  but 
that  is  soon  over,  and  the  day  will  break.  And  this  is  wliat  I  am 
thinking  of  now :  when  the  light  comes,  and  the  seas  are  smooth, 


406  MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

then  which  of  you — oh,  which  of  you  all  will  tell  this  tale  to  the 
two  women  at  Castle  Dare  ? 

*  %-  *  *  *  *  * 

So  fair  shines  the  morning  sun  on  the  white  sands  of  lona! 
The  three-days'  gale  is  over.  Behold,  how  Ulva — TJlva  the  green- 
shored — the  Ool-a-va  that  the  sailors  love — is  laughing  out  again 
to  the  clear  skies  !  And  the  great  starts  on  the  shores  of  Eris- 
geir  are  spreading  abroad  their  dusky  wings  to  get  them  dried 
in  the  sun  ;  and  the  seals  are  basking  on  the  rocks  in  Loch-na- 
Keal ;  and  in  Loch  Scridain  the  white  gulls  sit  buoyant  on  the 
blue  sea.  There  go  the  Gotnetra  men  in  their  brown-sailed  boat 
to  look  after  the  lobster-traps  at  Staffa,  and  very  soon  you  Avill 
see  the  steamer  come  round  the  far  Cailleach  Point;  over  at 
Erraidh  they  arc  signalling  to  the  men  at  Dubh-Artach,  and  they 
are  glad  to  have  a  message  from  them  after  the  heavy  gale.  The 
new,  bright  day  has  begun  ;  the  world  has  awakened  again  to  the 
joyous  sunlight;  there  is  a  chattering  of  the  sea-birds  all  along 
the  shores.  It  is  a  bright,  eager,  glad  day  for  all  the  world.  But 
there  is  silence  in  Castle  Dare ! 


ir-HK    ElTDo 


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